Bella and the Beast
by Sundance Coyote
Summary: Sybil Trelawney makes a new prophecy concerning Voldemort. His fate at the Battle of Hogwarts rests on his ability to conquer the last of an old magic, the very magic that saved Harry at Godric's Hollow. Voldemort needs to learn to express emotion-to love and be loved in return, before the last petal of the rose falls on the second of May. But who could ever learn to love a beast?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Prologue

 **A/N: Hey fanfiction! The idea for this story popped into my head in a dream one night and I just had to start writing it immediately because I got so excited about it. I've noticed similarities between Bellatrix and Voldemort's relationship (well the one in my head canon anyway :P) with Beauty and the Beast before (beyond just the awesome Belle/Bellatrix connection) but never thought much of it...until now :D Please tell me what you think-Reviews are the only tool I have for knowing what you guys like and don't like about my stories, so reviewing it is the only way to make it better aside from Pm-ing me. I've already written a chapter two, but I want to see what you all think before I post it.**

 **Thanks, and happy writing/reading!**

 **~Sundance**

 **Notes:**

 **-The lines " _As a world without a glance_**

 ** _Of the ocean's fair expanse_**

 ** _Such the world would be_**

 ** _If no love did flow in he"_ that I use as part of the prophecy in this chapter are a modification of lyrics in a song called "Beauty and the Beast" by Nightwish. I don't own those lines, specifically, but the rest of the chapter is my own original content. I also don't own the Potter universe, Voldemort, Snape, Bellatrix, etc, obvi (or the ending of the series would have been very different)**

 **-Time Frame: Shortly after Snape killed Dumbledore, three weeks before Harry Potter's 17th birthday (so beginning of DH)**

Chapter 1: The Prologue

(Voldemort)

 _***There is no light, no sound, no feeling in this place. Only emptiness. A woman lays crying in the cold, her clothes are tattered and worn, her hair is tangled and she has forgotten she was ever able to do magic. This woman is about to have a baby, but no one will take her in? Where in the world is there a place for her magical child?***_

 _***A baby is born on the steps of an orphanage in London. But this baby is different. It does not cry. It does not want for anything, yet it needs everything. It reaches for a strand of its mother's dirty hair, but she does not react. Her skin is cold. Her blood is dry and growing colder, but the baby's skin burns hot as coals.***_

 _***From the time that he is a very young child, he knows that he is different. ***_

Voldemort sat in his personal study, flipping through book after useless book looking for anything he could go off of. Anything that might bring him closer to finding what he sought most-the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, The Deathstick. The one tool that might guarantee him the ability to finally kill Harry Potter as he knew he was destined to from the moment he was born on the steps of a filthy muggle orphanage, already great. Ready to be greater. The small platinum model of a serpent on Voldemort's desk hissed, bringing him out of his reverie. Someone was at the door. With one hand tensely clasped around the base of his wand, he shut his eyes and listened for the visitor's thoughts.

 _Who dares to disturb me?_ He thought into the air, slicing its stillness like a knife.

 _A vision of thick black smoke smoldering around a single one-word thought and blocking out all others from Legilimency view-Severus, my Lord-_ the visitor was thinking, and indeed, the smoke curtain cleared just enough that Voldemort could see the image of his most useful servant brooding out in the hall with his thick black Death Eater hood pulled over his head, though he was the only one who didn't wear the silver mask.

"Enter," Voldemort instructed, aloud this time, as he shut his battered and dog-eared copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and placed a thick, red and leather-bound book of Advanced Dark Magic on top of it. He wasn't ready for anyone to know his plans yet, not even Severus. Especially when the small possibility still lingered that the Wand wasn't even real and he, the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, was chasing a fantasy out of a children's book. Severus pulled open the heavy door and immediately dropped to the floor in a deep bow.

"My Lord," he said respectfully, keeping his eyes downcast and his posture stooped slightly as he rose.

"Severus, you have killed Albus Dumbledore. You have proven yourself most capable of all my Death Eaters…" Voldemort began proudly, but then his face twisted into a scowl as he roared "LOOK ME IN THE EYE!"

"Sybil Trelawney has made another prophecy, my Lord," Severus said, this time looking directly into Voldemort's small red irises without blinking. _Sybil Trelawney..._ he'd heard that name before, Voldemort mused as he searched through his memories. Then it hit him like a shard of glass-more aptly, hundreds of tiny shards of blue glass dissolving into dust upon contact-the residue of a broken prophecy, made nearly twenty years ago.

"She's the Seer who-"

"I KNOW WHO SHE IS!" Voldemort bellowed. If there was one behavior of his Death Eaters that he despised more than any others, it was when they underestimated him. Even still, Snape projected through his thoughts an image of a woman with long and matted blond hair and large round glasses that magnified her hazel eyes to the size of tennis balls.

He reached into the left side pocket of his dark cloak and retrieved a small bottle of wispy grey haze, sealed tightly at the top with cork stopper. "My memory of the prophecy, my Lord," he said and Voldemort snatched it from him at once, not altogether trusting Snape not to change his mind or break the little bottle. Once it was safely in his grasp, Voldemort examined it curiously. He'd always been fascinated by memory. When he was young and living in the orphanage, before he even knew he was a wizard (well, he often liked to argue that deep down, he'd always known...just hadn't been _told_ until he was eleven), he liked to play with memories-extracting them in cobweb strings between his fingertips whenever he thought about something really intently-or tried to remember something he would have been too young to really remember-and when he got a little older, extracting memories from other children as well, usually when he needed proof that they were lying to him.

** _Voldemort is ten years old. A slender, handsome boy that all the other children are afraid_

 _of. He knows they talk about him behind his back-calling him a freak, a demon, a spawn of the devil-everyone here does-children and adults alike. He knows that Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop aren't really his friends. They pretend to be, pretend to go along with whatever he says...but then they laugh about him with everyone else when they think he isn't paying attention. Good thing he has always been cleverer than they are._

 _The cave is cool and damp inside when the three of them enter, having successfully slipped away from the rest of the group on the summer outing._

" _Where are we going?" Amy asks and her voice quivers like she's trying not to show him how scared she is. But he knows better. Why be scared? They're supposed to be his friends, aren't they?_

" _C'mon Tom, we must be getting back. Miss Cole is going to be furious when she notices we're gone!" Dennis exclaims. Weak, thinks the young boy who will one day become Voldemort. Where is their sense of adventure? Real friends wouldn't be scared._

 _"_ _I wanted to show you this place that I found. It's cooler here. And quieter-we can talk here," the boy extends his arm to gesture to the splendor of the cave that only he seems able to see, ignoring the anxious questioning of the other children as if he hasn't heard them. He is bent slightly, examining a perfectly pointed, creamy stalagmite_ _on the side of the cave wall and trying to find flaw with it when he hears Dennis whisper something to Amy. He doesn't catch it all, but he hears the words "weird" and "when he's not looking." The young Voldemort whips around at once, his thick black hair standing on end and his pale face shining like fluorescence._

" _What did you just say? No need to whisper. We're all friends, after all," he says, offering a smile that curls upwards into a smirk at the end._

" _We were… we were just...we…"_

 _Without uttering a word, Tom Marvolo Riddle crosses his arms across his chest and at once, Dennis and Amy are upside-down, hanging from invisible threads suspended from the cave ceiling. They scream, but Tom knows that no one can hear them. He reaches out to Amy first, brushing his long white fingertips against the side of her face with one hand and pulling one of her blond pigtails with the other. She shrieks more wildly, but Tom hardly hears her. He is focused now on the wad of what resembled runny wet cement that he held between his thumb and index finger. He fixates on the vision...Amy and Dennis and Billy Suggs at lunch the other day._

" _He's a freak-an animal," Billy says. "I don't understand how you could even try to be his friends."_

" _He's lonely. I feel bad for him...plus, he's not all bad...he's kind of interesting."_

" _Interesting? Try a monster. He killed my rabbit. We need to watch him and the next time he does something, we've got to tell Miss Cole. Hopefully then, they'll lock him up in the nuthouse where he belongs…" Dennis nods at Billy's words and finally, so does Amy, admittedly with some hesitancy, but she nods, she goes along with them...she betrays him._

" _C'mon Tom, let us down...you said it yourself, we're your friends. We…" Tom opens his eyes and returns to the present, to Amy and Dennis hanging by their ankles as the blood rushed to their heads._

" _I don't need friends, I need loyalty." He blinks, and they fall harshly against the ground, not enough to hurt them, but enough to let them know he is special, he is no freak, and he is not to be provoked. They are only envious of his power. ***_

Voldemort ordered Snape out and locked the door behind him before making his way across the room to the standing bust of Salazar Slytherin made of onyx with gleaming malachite eyes, but passed over it in favor of the far plainer looking Wizard's Chess set beside it. He moved the queen-side black knight to check the white king and the chest set folded inward on itself as Voldemort's Pensieve rose from within it to the surface and its eagerly beckoning Master.

His Pensieve was a truly magnificent art piece of his own design, made of shiny black obsidian and guarded on all sides by serpents carved out of rare Russian Jade. These, he spoke to in Parseltongue and they bowed their heads to him, slithering to their respective corners of the Pensieve, dragging its lid with them and revealing the depths of Voldemort's memories and their surface that glittered invitingly with thousands of pin-prick sized emeralds.

Voldemort felt something-the pounding of his own heart-as he poured the contents of the memory into the Pensieve. The first prophecy made by this infernal Trelawney woman had set the course of his entire life-what power could this new one hold? None stronger than his own. Nothing he couldn't handle...but still, he felt triumphant at having hold of something-a weapon, of sorts-that Potter and the Order didn't have. Couldn't have. And it was with this warm sense of victory, that Voldemort stuck his head through the barrier of emeralds and into the swirling, luminous liquid below.

*** _Voldemort's feet hit the floor with a thud that went unnoticed by the other people in the room, because his presence didn't exist to them. Not in their present time, anyway. He recognized the room as the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts._

 _He watched, bored, as Snape coaxed Sybil Trelawney with sherry and encouraged her to divulge her thoughts with a patience that Voldemort had to admit he found somewhat impressive. Though he wished Snape would have cut to the point in giving him this memory. He didn't care about, nor did he have time for, Trelawney's drunken sob stories about old lovers and wasted dreams. Not ever, but especially not right now when time was of the essence and so much was at stake. Suddenly, she reached for her throat, wrapping her fingers, covered in costume rings, around her neck as though about to choke herself. Snape did nothing, but sit back in the Headmaster's high-backed chair and watch astutely. He had, after all, heard the old Seer deliver a prophecy once before this and knew what to expect._

" _Crow and Coyote met in the field where the stars greeted the horizon and Sun and Moon stood entwined as lovers," Trelawney gasped, her prophetic voice raspy from disuse. Though she had her back to Voldemort, he knew her eyes were seeing something he and Snape, unfortunately, could not._

" _A kiss of Love, a seal of Death_

 _The time of the fall of the Dark Lord approaches_

 _As the fifth month dies, if he shall fail to conquer the last of an old sacred magic_

 _He shall be marked by the power from the hand of his enemy saved by that same power_

 _Either must die at the hand of Love, either must receive the kiss of Death_

 _Learn to love and be loved in return_

 _As a world without a glance_

 _Of the ocean's fair expanse_

 _Such the world would be_

 _If no love did flow in he_

 _For who could ever learn to love a beast?_

 _The last petal of the enchanted rose will fall, as the fifth month dies_

 _For who could ever learn to love a beast?-"_

Voldemort wrenched his head out of the Pensieve and his study swam into view once more. He balled his hands into fists and slammed them down against the Pensieve, which had returned once more to its chess board form. Such confusion as that which coursed through him presently was unfamiliar, and he resented it.


	2. Chapter 2: Like a Bell Through the Night

**Chapter 2: Like a Bell Through the Night**

 **Author's Note: Hey fanfiction! Thanks so much for your kind reviews and follows of my story! I've been working on Chapter 2 for the past few days and I'm excited about how it turned out since I had a lot of fun with the setting. If you've seen American Horror Story or listened to any music by Stevie Nicks, you'll notice some...interesting little cameos. I wouldn't call the story a crossover, though, since these characters won't feature much in the story and I've changed them some from how they are in AHS: Coven. This chapter is in Voldemort's perspective and focuses mostly on the prophecy he learned about in the prologue. Since it drifts a bit from HP: DH canon info, I'll hurry to post Chapter 3 which is in Bellatrix's perspective and set in the regular Harry Potter world.**

 **As always, let me know what you think and I'll try to update as soon as I can!**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sundance**

 **p.s. I don't own Harry Potter, American Horror Story or any of the characters nor do I own any of Stevie Nicks' song lyrics**

 **(Voldemort)**

Voldemort landed in a patch of wet, muddy grass that squished beneath his black trainers when he apparated.

" _Lumos,"_ he growled and a small jolt of light ignited from the tip of his wand. As it grew gradually brighter, he looked around at his location, now bathed in a harsh yellow glow. He was standing beneath a thick canopy of tall trees with very green shrub-like growth and was surrounded, it seemed, on all sides by water, though it was an illusion because the water was no more than a foot deep and covered in algal growth. He hoped he'd found the right place, because _if he was missing his first ever death-eater meeting to wade through this dump, it had better be worth something…_

When he'd begun seeking _Cat in the Dark Love Potions-Strongest Around_ , known wildly throughout the wizarding world as truly, the strongest and most effective known love potions, he hadn't expected to find the witch who brewed them out in the southern-most United States of America, deep within a mucky Louisiana bayou. _If that witch in Knockturn Alley had lied to him...there'd be hell to pay for sure..._ but if his research and sources were correct, then not only was this witch the most knowledgable about manufacturing love alive today and thus most likely to be able to give him some information about the nature of his obscure prophecy, but she was also the witch whose potion had found it's way into his mother's hands...and Voldemort had a bit of a side interest in finding her, though he'd never express it and hardly dared even think on it for fear it would distract him from his primary purpose: divulging Trelawney's newest prophecy. In turn, he hoped the prophecy was worth something vital, since his work on understanding it was distracting him from time he could be putting into getting ahold of the Elder Wand.

Two hours of wrong turns and sludging through the swamp later, and Voldemort was about four near alligator encounters and six _Impervius's_ of his cloak past incredible frustration when he finally came upon a raised dilapidated shack about fifty feet off the ground through the weeds. If he didn't know better, and if he didn't know magic, he would have been surprised if anyone actually lived there, but he strongly doubted that if the witch behind _Cat in the Dark_ was as powerful as she claimed, she'd want to be out in the open. Even Hogwarts itself appeared to bystanders as a dilapidated and dangerous shack to Muggles and all who were not supposed to be able to find it. As he approached the shack, however and noticed the dimly flickering torchlight outside, he realized that the building, if he could call it that, was not enchanted at all...but really just a shack. Though he did sense that strong magic had been performed here, and it was this that compelled him to climb the rickety wooden and rope ladder up to a platform upon which the shack rested, all dangerously close to collapse.

He lingered near the door, unsure of whether or not he should knock or just blast it open. He was saved the trouble of deciding, however, when a set of tattered tartan curtains rustled in the door-side window and Voldemort caught a glimpse of curly blonde hair. A few seconds later, the door opened about halfway and the curly blonde hair emerged, though he saw it was attached to a young woman no more than 25 years old.

"What's your business?" she snapped harshly in a heavy Southern American drawl. Voldemort decided to play it politely-for now, since he was alone and didn't know how many witches and wizards awaited him inside.

"I'm looking for the owner of _Cat in the Dark,_ " he said, being purposefully vague in case he had come to the wrong place and she was a Muggle.

"Oh," the girl said, letting out a deep breath. "Thought you might be a Muggle. Come in, then." She pulled the door open all the way, allowing him entrance to the shack, which, as he had suspected was, due to magic, much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. The first feature of the room that struck him was the ceiling, which reminded him of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, only instead of being bewitched to look like the sky outside, this ceiling was bewitched to show the galaxy. The sun was the main feature, but Voldemort thought it looked plain in comparison to the thousands of stars glittering like diamonds on royal blue velvet. Every couple of seconds, one of them streaked across the sky, then exploded, leaving behind a trail of white fire that burned into several new stars. He studied it curiously, and the witch who'd let him in noticed.

"It's great, isn't it? Madam Rhiannon did it herself. She's the most powerful witch in the country-my Supreme."

"And she makes the love potions?"

"Sure does. You here to place an order or for a consultation?"

"A consultation of sorts, yes."

"Well you can sit tight for a spell if you're able while I check and see if Madam Rhiannon can fit ya in-want something to drink while you wait? Firewhiskey? Pumpkin juice?" She said all of this very quickly and once Voldemort was able to drag his eyes away from the ceiling, he noticed the rest of the very large and very strange room. The walls were covered almost entirely in blankets, rugs, curtains and sheets all in different shades of gold, brown, orange and red and in all different patterns and designs. A purple curtain on the far left side of the room stood out due to it's vibrancy and the fact it was made out of beads. It clearly covered a door, while a similar beaded curtain on the right side of the room closer to Voldemort was ivy green and also covered a door. The center of the room was set up like a living area, and three purple chairs backed in gold converged around a gold-lacquered coffee table beneath a spiral-topped aubergine tent. Voldemort took a seat in one of these chairs, which was surprisingly very comfortable, and asked Misty to bring him a firewhiskey while he waited to meet this mysterious witch whose mother or grandmother or whomever she'd inherited the business from, had been responsible for Voldemort's own conception. He wondered how the Death Eater meeting was going in his absence. He'd asked Severus to facilitate it, since he was the one who'd obtained first-hand from the Order, the vital information about the Potter boy's travel arrangements from his childhood home, but he wondered how receptive the Death Eaters would be...Voldemort hadn't told anyone where he was going or even that he'd be missing the meeting, although Severus had surmised he was on some top secret business having to do with the prophecy.

"Here's your firewhiskey, sir." Misty held up the cask and poured some of it into the amethyst-encrusted goblet she'd just conjured. "Madam Rhiannon can meet with you in about fifteen minutes, after she's finished preparing an important order. Are you able to wait?"

Voldemort nodded. He'd waited long enough. Misty sat down across from him in one of the other chairs and conjured a stone incense burner with the strangest looking wand Voldemort had ever seen. It was thin and looked like she'd spent hours gluing tiny pearls and different colored ribbons to it.

"What smells do you like? C'mon don't be shy, what will your love potion smell like to you? 'Scuse me for bein' nosy, but I'm just curious. I can tell you mine if you like. I like Musk because it smells like the swamp mud outside." It took him a second to realize she was talking about incense scents and not just asking an odd question that it was not her place to ask. She opened a drawer on her side of the coffee table and began rifling through the powdered incense cones it held. Voldemort liked Patchouli (for reasons unknown to him), but it seemed weird to him to say this, so he told her he liked Dragon Heartstring and she chose a deep red cone for the burner.

He didn't know how long they'd been waiting, but between the firewhiskey, the deep, earthy incense and his two hour walk through the bayou, he had to fight to keep his eyes from glazing over...though he reminded himself that he needed to keep his wits about him. He was in a new place around people he didn't know, without any Death Eaters.

"I can probably bring you to her study now; she'll be ready soon enough," Misty said, breaking Voldemort out of his hazy reverie. He followed her through the purple beading covering what was indeed a door on the left side of the living room area, and it led them down a small, cramped hallway lined with more doors. Misty tapped her wand-like object against one of them and whispered a form of password: " _I remain facing freedom with a little fear; I have no fear, I have only love."_ The door swung open to face them, revealing a room much like a smaller version of the one they'd just left-lined equally with sheets, though one wall was covered in several crooked black bookshelves crowded with leather volumes. The chairs in this room were similarly gold backed, but were red instead of purple. "Just wait here for her if you don't mind; she's on her way." _On her way?_ Voldemort was beginning to suspect that this Rhiannon witch hadn't even been here when he'd arrived and Misty had summoned her from somewhere else.

"It's alright Misty, you can go. I've been expecting him, for a long time."

Voldemort was struck by the sensation that the witch who emerged from the curtains surrounding the study door could not possibly be real, or at least, not a real witch. Not a witch deserving of the title Misty Day had bestowed upon her. Supreme. She strode out from behind the sheath of fuschia stage curtains as the room filled with the sound of rain shakers like hundreds of tiny beads rubbing together. She was older than he'd expected-maybe sixty or so-with long blond hair down to her hips and streaked with white and silver. Her attire was that of a teenage muggle girl's foolish witch costume on Halloween-a black dress covered in lace that plunged low and yet drifted past her toes and drug across the floor when she walked-and dozens of shawls tossed haphazardly across her shoulders and back and adorned with strands of beads shaped like stars and crescent moons. Misty, however, bowed before her like Voldemort's servants bowed to him and hurried out of the room.

"Ah, I have been expecting you for some time now, Voldemort" she repeated in a voice that sounded raspy from years of inhaling too much smoke and potion fumes.

"You _dare_ speak my name?"

"I _dare_ very much." He was struck by the impulse to strangle her right then. Crazy old bitch out in a swamp like this-no one would miss her. She probably wasn't even who she said she was, yet she'd been fool enough to make him wait. He paused momentarily and decided to keep her alive long enough to get whatever information he could so that apparating out here in the middle of nowhere and missing his first ever death eater meeting would be worth something.

"But you've heard of me?" he asked. She had known his name, after all.

"We don't all live under a rock out here, you know."

"Then you know of my power."

"I know you desire power," she replied. Voldemort's temptation to kill her was growing stronger by the minute, intensified by the overpowering smell of sage mixed with whatever cheap incense she was burning in here. He wouldn't even need to use magic, he thought. Perhaps it would be greatly amusing to strangle her the muggle way-by hanging her from the high beam-crossed wooden rafters by one of her long necklaces or shawls.

"So you're _the great Rhiannon_ , the most _powerful_ witch in this country?" he growled in his obvious disbelief. The old woman chortled, but looked otherwise nonplussed.

"You sound surprised. But you give me too much credit. I'm only the most powerful of my own Coven, actually. Some call me the Supreme, but others closest to me just call me 'that old Welsh witch.' But skipping the formalities," she said, her low rasp suddenly growing cold, "I know you're here about your prophecy. I know you're here because I make love potions and you think I can help you-you think I'd want to help you, even feel _honored_ to help you." She probably thought herself clever, expecting him to be impressed with her only vaguely accurate details of his motivations. Maybe she _was_ magic. Or just a decent old fraud.

"So you're a Legilimens? I don't much think that that means you-

"A what? Perhaps my magic- _our magic_ -is just different from yours. I know you want to kill me right now, but you could kill me, and there'd be another Supreme after me and another after that. We're a Coven of women descended from Salem. Perhaps the atrocities that happened there affected our magic in some way, making it as immortal as you desire to be, though we are not and wouldn't want to be...And rest assured...if you kill me, they will come for you...now and for generations as long as you walk this earth and into the next life because _our magic_ can raise the dead...rest assured, _we will_ come for you." She had drawn herself dangerously close to him and was pointing into his eyes with a single long red fingernail. She didn't even have a wand. At least, not visibly. Seeming to sense this thought of his, she took a single step backwards.

And then Voldemort was suspended from the ceiling by his ankles, hanging by one of the same beaded celestial shawls he was going to strangle her with earlier. He suppressed a roar of anger to make it look like he'd anticipated her sudden move and even allowed her to do it to him.

"How much use for a wand do I have? I'm an _old fraud_ after all," she hissed, snapping her fingers as she did so. She snapped and then the shawl holding him to the ceiling beam by his right ankle, was on fire-flames lapping closer to the hem of his robes than he liked. He snatched his wand out of his sleeve and instantly put the fire out with a nonverbal incantation and then, with a purposely audible _Liberacorpus,_ set himself right side up again. Brushing off his robes nonchalantly, he faced her.

"Fine. Say I have a reason not to kill you immediately. Say you can prove yourself somehow useful to me. I'll entertain it _for the moment._..what can you tell me about the prophecy?" He deliberately left out the content to see if she truly knew nearly as much as she claimed. But she wasn't even looking at him anymore. She had turned away and limped off to the wall lined with crooked bookcases, which she began to peruse intently.

"It's based off of two children's stories, I believe." _Childrens stories?_ An image of that battered and dog-earred copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ on his desk instantly popped into his mind.

"Tales of Beedle the Bard? Goodness no, not that racket. I'm talking about a much older story, an aboriginal story, one that was told before stories were ever written down, passed down for generations by storytellers and their memories. Have you heard of the Crow and the Coyote?" His interest picqued suddenly as she spoke.

 _...Crow and Coyote met in the field where the stars greeted the horizon and Sun and Moon stood entwined as lovers…_

His eyes fell once again, to the hundreds of silver beaded moons draped around her frail shoulders.

"If it's not a written tale, how can I trust you will tell it to me accurately?"

"Your prophecy was not written down, yet you believe it?" Voldemort fell silent, gesturing for her to continue. Rhiannon paused as if expecting him to interrupt her again, and when he did not, she smiled in her quiet victory before conjuring (again, without a visible wand) a small scene in the air between them-a misty indigo haze and in the middle of it, a slow-burning campfire that gave off real smoke, filling his snake-like nostrils with the smell of burnt wood and fresh ash. "Long ago," she began in her choky rasp. "Before the world began, there was only Coyote the Trickster and his friend, Rainbow Crow. They created the world that we know." With a wave of her lace-lined sleeve, she created an image of a black bird streaked with all the colors of the rainbow and a rather plain-looking, dull in comparison to the Crow's beauty, brown coyote sitting together by the fire.

"They are the beings who created our world-Rainbow Crow used her wings to fly across the sky, painting it with her rainbow color in shades of fire, river and sea-the colors of the dawn slowly fading into night. She painted the Sun, the Moon, the stars, the clouds, wind and storm and lightning and all the other weather in the atmosphere." Voldemort couldn't help but watch, enchanted, as Rhiannon's mist followed her story without any direction from the witch. The indigo haze glowed lilac with dawn, orange with the sunrise, and blue as lapis lazuli with the afternoon. It was red in the twilight and indigo again with the night sky, as the golden amorphous sun melded with a silver amorphous moon, _entwining as lovers._

"And the Coyote, who secretly believed his power to surpass and even be more useful than Rainbow Crow's, ran across the surface of their new earth, kicking up dust and creating in his path grass and dirt and leaves and trees and all the plants in the atmosphere. As the ball of dust he created with some say, was his own magic working with nature, grew larger, he used it to sculpt mountains and stones and dunes, while the leftover dust settled across what became the sand and sea, all colorless, but reflecting the beautiful colors that Rainbow Crow had painted across her sky." Rhiannon waited until her coyote stopped running and the world she held so precariously between her outstretched palms stopped spinning to continue her story.

"You might say, that Rainbow Crow and Trickster Coyote were the most powerful creatures in the world…but what does power matter if you have no followers? They thought of this and created all of the other animal creatures and insects and even humans to take care of and inhabit the world that they had created. They ruled over this world together and they shared this power well, until they came to disagree about one important thing. Something you yourself have feared until you found a way to overcome it."

"Death?"

"The very same." _A kiss of Love, a seal of Death…The time of the fall of the Dark Lord approaches_

 _As the fifth month dies, if he shall fail to conquer the last of an old sacred magic_

 _He shall be marked by the power from the hand of his enemy saved by that same power_

 _Either must die at the hand of Love, either must receive the kiss of Death_

The words of the prophecy he'd committed to memory ran across his mind like Trickster Coyote. The fifth month had to be May if the seventh month in Trelawney's original prophecy meant July. If the prophecy was going to come to fruition in May, then he had only ten months left to settle it. But what would happen in May? A battle. That much had been clear to him almost instantly. A battle where Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix would try to kill him and would succeed if Voldemort couldn't conquer an old sacred power-death? No. The old woman had said herself, he'd already conquered Death. So had Harry Potter.

"Rainbow Crow thought that everything should be immortal, like she and Coyote, so that they'd never have to be lonely," Rhiannon continued. Voldemort visibly stiffened. _Weak. Weak. Only the weak get lonely and those weaker still, succumb to it..._ he thought. If the old witch had read his thoughts, she gave no sign in acknowledgement. Instead, she continued her story. "...But Coyote was afraid that if everything lived forever, someone would try to take their power away, and believed that only they should be immortal and everyone else should die and return to the dust from which he had sculpted them, when it became their time." Voldemort was beginning to realize that this fictional Coyote had more logic than anyone he'd encountered in his life. If the being, who, according to legend had created the world, believed as he believed, didn't that validate the entirety of his cause?

"Rainbow Crow was upset, but because she loved Coyote, she decided to compromise and it was made so. Everything, after a certain amount of time, died and disappeared...never again to return to this world," she said as the hazy characters between her palms fizzled away into blackness, leaving only Rainbow Crow and Coyote. _Either must die at the hand of Love, either must receive the kiss of Death..._ if the two sacred powers were the Love and Death embodied by Rainbow Crow and Trickster Coyote, and he'd already conquered Death, that meant the power he had to conquer before May was Love...the Love that made Rainbow Crow weak. But he'd already conquered love better than anyone-and, surprisingly, through no effort or dark magic of his own. Because he was conceived under a love potion, he was born completely incapable of, and unaffected by, love. He would never die at the hand of love. He would never receive the kiss of death-his Horcruxes assured him of that whenever he held them by their tiny beating hearts.

"One day, however, Trickster Coyote's son died-the only creature he would have ever allowed to become as powerful as he-and Coyote felt something he didn't know he was capable of feeling," Rhiannon continued.

"Fear at having lost his best and most loyal servant?"

"No. Grief. He begged Rainbow Crow to change the rules. To go back to her original plan and let everyone live forever if only to bring back his son. But Rainbow Crow refused, having already given up too much of herself to give in to his earlier persuasions. He vowed then to spend the rest of his everlasting life seeking revenge on Rainbow Crow."

"As he should. Unfortunately, he was too complicit to notice that in rendering himself immortal, he'd made her immortal as well. But his next mistake was getting too close to his son. Should have just had another. There'd be other sons, other servants...he was immortal after all...why didn't he know that?" Voldemort was willing to readily admit that he couldn't understand attachment. _How could any rational being become so invested in another, at the expense of their own power?_

"Well, you see Coyote foolishly believed that only he was the true conquerer of Death since he thought himself to be so much wiser than Rainbow Crow. He set to work carving a red pit out of the earth with his tail and then he used the clay within the pit to sculpt horrible monsters that he believed he could use to torture and kill Rainbow Crow if he instructed them to do so...but he knew she was powerful in her own right and if she saw these giant monsters coming, would destroy them before they could get close enough to touch her. So, he rethought his approach and created a very powerful man, to be his new son. His man-son _looked innocent,_ but was ambitious and intelligent and capable of bringing great evil to the world...and to Rainbow Crow especially." She paused again and drawing her inward-facing palms further apart, she conjured an image of a man in dark black robes emblazoned with green serpents. _It couldn't be...could it?_

"Trickster Coyote told Slytherin where to find Rainbow Crow, and even, broke off one of his own claws that Slytherin could use as a dagger to slaughter her with." The mention of one of his most important ancestors brought Voldemort back into the story instantly. "But when he found Rainbow Crow, the most powerful witch of all time," Rhiannon continued, "it was to find her already waiting for him." The old witch's smoke-filled bird flew in circles around the tiny Slytherin, who stood floating atop her palms, now flat and open-faced. "Rainbow Crow knew of Slytherin's qualities, so she gave him an interesting choice. Much like you did when you entered my home, he asked her for one reason he should not kill her instantly as Coyote had ordered him to...and she offered him a silver metal ball no larger than the palm of his hand." Rhiannon flicked her wrist and conjured a silver metal ball like the one from her story. She held it out to Voldemort, but he did not take it, so she continued the story.

"She told him she did not know what the silver ball contained, substance-wise, only that she'd inserted into it some of her own magic. Magic that Coyote did not possess. She told Slytherin she knew he was smart and that he could be more powerful than Coyote, the strongest wizard of all time. But if he, Slytherin, were to kill her...Rainbow Crow..., then he would be a monster forever no better than his father. He would not be killing her out of survival need or even because he wanted to, but to satisfy the demands of an immortal Master he would never be free from. She told Slytherin he was already more powerful than Coyote, well, he could be..if he conquered the power that Coyote could not. Once more, she pushed the little silver ball in Slytherin's direction and in his scramble to grab it before she could take it back, he dropped the dagger from Coyote. The silver ball he was so curious about-was full of Love-because he'd chosen to spare her life." The silver ball vanished from her hand...not that Voldemort would have ever grabbed it if it didn't.

"Through this love, he met a woman who would always love him so long as he would always love her, and together, they ruled the magical world until it became time for them to die, and their heirs ruled after them...while somewhere out there, Coyote and Rainbow Crow, the immortals, continue to fight to regain control of the universe."

 _...Learn to love and be loved in return..._

Rhiannon stopped speaking and stared curiously at Voldemort as though waiting for his reaction.

"That's it?" he asked sarcastically. He'd gleaned absolutely no information from that story, which he was starting to think was not only a colossal waste of his time, but complete bullshit from the begininning...a ruse to distract him from his thoughts of killing her. Voldemort's eyelids narrowed into slits and he reached for his wand, but Rhiannon rolled her eyes, which he hadn't noticed before, were brilliantly amaranthine.

"You could kill me. Or you could wait for me to finish."

"I thought you were finished," Voldemort said curtly.

"There's more. I told you there were two stories the prophecy was based on, did I not?" Voldemort did not disagree.

"In the other story, a wealthy young pureblooded wizard was cursed by a powerful old witch. She came to him, disguised as a homeless Muggle seeking shelter for a night. She had no magic and no money and said she could offer him nothing in return, but a rose. Well, you can imagine he laughed harshly and tried to close the door in her face so that he could return to his party, but she stuck her foot in the door to stop him, revealing herself to be a beautiful young pureblood witch." As she spoke, something curious happened to Rhiannon's right eye. It twinkled and something streaked across it like the shooting stars on the sitting room ceiling. Voldemort dismissed it as a trick of the light or too much firewhiskey.

"The wizard tried to apologize, but the witch was repulsed by the lack of love and compassion in his heart, so she set a curse on him and all his servants, transforming him into a hideous, beastly monster and all the servants into household objects," the old witch continued. "The curse could only be broken if the Beast learned to love another and received the other's love in return before the last petal of the witch's enchanted rose fell and died; if not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time."

"You said he was a wizard- surely he could find a way to break the curse…"

"Oh, believe me, he spent years pent up in his library researching and hunting for anything that might reverse it, while his castle fell into a state of despair and he became pitiful and helpless, convinced the only way out of the curse was to find someone to love him-and how could that be, when he and his home were so terribly ugly?"

 _As a world without a glance_

 _Of the ocean's fair expanse_

 _Such the world would be_

 _If no love did flow in he_

 _For who could ever learn to love a beast?_

She stopped then rather abruptly and strode across the room to relight the incense in a cracked ceramic burner shaped like the sun. Voldemort waited impatiently.

"Well? Is that? Did he find love? Did he break the curse?"

"I would have thought you wouldn't care?"

"I care if hearing the ending will help me to find the way out of this prophecy."

"I'll tell you what, if you succeed in what you have to do, come back to me _as the fifth month dies_ and I'll tell you the rest of the story." Her eyes blazed with amusement and she let out a harsh cackle. One she would soon come to regret, because Voldemort had had it with her wasting his time.

"DAMNIT YOU INSOLENT BITCH! You haven't told me what I have to do! You haven't told me anything useful-just spouted stories you've made up, well you'll regret it, you'll-"

"Haven't I? Has nothing I said rung a bell with you? _The last petal of the enchanted rose will fall, as the fifth month dies...For who could ever learn to love a beast?-"_ she whispered.

"Give me one reason-no stories, no pausing, no puttering around this dismal shack of yours-one reason, right now, why I should let you continue to breathe air." Voldemort clenched his jaw and raised his wand level with the small woman's chin. But she didn't flinch.

"Voldemort, is it not yet clear to you? _You_ are the heir of Coyote and you have conquered Death and in doing so, you have become Beast. You must find your Rainbow Crow, your conquerer of love...before the fifth month dies. Or you will fall. Harry Potter and his Love magic will conquer you again, like they did sixteen years ago."

"You idiot! You dimwitted old hag! I can't fall in love even if I wanted to indulge your horrible stories-my Muggle-loving mother used a love potion when she conceived me. A LOVE POTION FROM HERE NO LESS!...I cannot love and will never be able to."

Rhiannon made no sign she'd heard him, but conjured a rose nonetheless. As angry as Voldemort was, he had to admit the rose was distinctly enchanting. It was fuller than any he'd seen before, with redder petals and greener thorns, and it radiated a light that matched the old witch's mysterious eyes.

"Wasn't there a time," she murmured. "...If only briefly, when you believed yourself unable to conquer Death? How is Love any different? I think you know what you must do, don't you? First and foremost, you must find the one ready and willing to die for you. And learn to love them as they love you. Only then, will you be able to be successful this May. I'm not supposed to take sides in prophetic matters or magical disputes, especially those that do not concern my Coven...but I must tell you: As love magic has conquered you once before, you'd be a fool to let it conquer you again."


	3. Chapter 3: She Asked Me, Be My Sister

**Chapter 3: She Asked Me, Be My Sister**

 **** **A/N: Update #3 is here! Thank you so very much for the kind reviews, favorites and follows! They really mean a lot to me! And I'm glad you liked the little AHS: Coven crossover in the last chapter. Did anyone catch Madam Rhiannon actually being Stevie Nicks? I wanted to use the real Stevie in the story, but I didn't know how seriously fanfiction took their "no real people" in the stories rule and I didn't want them to take my story down. Anyway, this update is a little short comparatively, but I'm working really hard on the next chapter, which will detail the battle of the seven potters from voldemort's pov! Like always, please leave me a review if you get a chance or drop me a follow if you want and I'll try to update again as soon as I can!**

 **Thanks,**

 **~SunDance~**

 **(Bellatrix)**

"Really, Bellatrix? Come on down or we'll be late." The woman by the door spoke to the woman standing in front of the mirror with disdain and a note of fear that the woman by the mirror, Bellatrix Lestrange, did not miss.

"Silence, Narcissa," Bellatrix hissed to her sister through clenched teeth. "I must look perfect before I present myself to the Dark Lord-he deserves nothing less than-"

"Oh please, Bella. He's not even going to look at you," Narcissa snapped, cutting her off. Bellatrix frowned in the mirror, though she made no move to stop adjusting her dress a few final times. Simply thinking of the Dark Lord made her skin tingle with excitement and desire. Narcissa, being her sister, knew all about Bellatrix's fantasies regarding the Dark Lord, but due to her loyalty to Rodolphus and expressed wish not to see Bellatrix get hurt, she refused to indulge them or even talk about them. Bellatrix, however, had not given up the small semblance of hope that had burned within her with the power of the strongest Dark Mark, that one day he would notice her...at the very least, acknowledge her as more important, more faithful, smarter, more talented...dare she think it, _more beautiful_ than the rest. That if he were the type to give into something as weak as love, she would be the one he would choose...hearing any of that, she thought, would be enough to quench her desire.

"He'll surely notice you if you're late, but not in the way that you want," Narcissa urged and Bellatrix sighed, glancing over herself one final time in the elegant mirror for flyaway hairs and smeared makeup. Feeling as satisfied as she was going to, Bellatrix followed Narcissa out of the room, thinking privately that at least she looked better than her sister. She had chosen a form-fitting, silk black dress for the occasion of the meeting. It went down to just above her knees, hugging her abundant curves and hourglass figure. It plunged in the front, but only slightly, leaving most of her chest to the imagination and it was sleeveless on one arm, while the other arm was sleeved in matching black silk adorned with tiny silver crystals.

Narcissa, in contrast, looked quite the opposite of Bellatrix. She was pale where her sister was tan, her hair white-blonde and straight while Bella's was black as a raven and made up of a nest of frequently unkempt curls. She was also dressed more modestly, in a long silver high-collared dress that swept the top of the opaque marble staircase that spiraled down into the Entrance Hall of Malfoy Manor, which the Dark Lord, much to Bellatrix's joy and Narcissa's chagrin, had made his headquarters.

Bellatrix filed after her sister into the first floor dining room, where the meeting was to be held. A majestic claw-footed table ran nearly the length of the room and it was surrounded by matching sleek white chairs with silver and lavender cushions. Each chair had a name floating above it in green sparks, which was how the Dark Lord set places. Bellatrix scanned for the name on the right-hand side of the head of the table, where the Dark Lord always sat. Scowling, she saw Snivellus Snape sitting in the high-backed chair meant for their master.

"You!" she hissed. "Where is the Dark Lord? What do you think you're doing, taking his place?" As she spoke, she noticed that not only was the Dark Lord not in his usual place-he wasn't there at all.

"The whereabouts of the Dark Lord and his motivations behind ordering me to facilitate this meeting are not the business of yours if he did not have the inclination to include you in them, Bellatrix," Snape replied curtly. A few Death Eaters sitting near him sniggered. "Silence," growled Snape. "If our late guests would be so kind as to take their seats, we can begin with the meeting."

Still angry, but not thinking Snape started a fight over, Bellatrix found her seat near the middle of the right side of the table, in between Narcissa and Wormtail. She waited with bated breath, more than half expecting him to appear at any moment and punish Snape for thinking he could ever act in his place-but he did not and the more Snape droned on in his usual slow monotone, the more Bellatrix became...and the more disappointed that the Dark Lord would not see her in her beautiful new dress. _Nor ever be able to imagine what it'd feel like to take it off of her…His hands, so cold...yet so warm. His fingers, long and slender, cupped around her soft, plump breasts..._

"Bella!" snapped Narcissa suddenly. "Pay attention!" Startled, Bellatrix lifted her chin from it's place resting on her hand and blinked several times. _Shit...must have dozed off..._ she thought. Yaxley and Dolohov were howling with laughter across the table and even young Draco snickered from his place in between his mother and father.

"What? What's going on?"

"Bellatrix. That's now the fourth time I've had to say your name; now you will answer me...presently... or I will take no issue in informing the Dark Lord that you could not fight in the battle on Saturday because you needed to tend to your wounded limbs. Are we clear? I _will_ have your respect," Snape glowered firmly and Bellatrix was relieved. He hadn't noticed her falling asleep...hadn't shown any sign he'd read her mind into her dangerous daydream...he'd just assumed she was being defiant. As he should...but still...a battle? _This_ Saturday? And _he_ was in charge of it? What had he done, to prove himself worthy, other than kill a weak old man? When she had killed dozens for him, tortured more, risked her life countlessly and would again...for him.

"As if you'd even be brave enough to say my name to him. I have always been his favorite. His most loyal, his most faithful-"she heard herself hiss aloud. Rodulphus, her useless idiot of a husband sitting to her immediate left, stepped on her foot harshly.

"Sshh...do you want him to be angry with us?" he whispered. Bellatrix ignored him. Her eyes were focused on Snape, most unfortunately. She knew she'd always made his skin crawl in ways Narcissa couldn't because she was so innocent. She knew Snape thought she was crazy and she relished in his discomfort.

"Silence," he said quietly. "A right bit of use you were to him all those years shut up in Azkaban-"

"How dare you!" she spat venemously. After all she'd suffered. She'd been starved, drained of all happiness and worth by the dementors, forced to sleep on a flea-ridden cot and live on moldy rations while she cried herself to sleep every night forced to imagine what horrible fates could have become of her beloved Dark Lord...while Snivellus sat up at Hogwarts making a generous salary and sitting by a warm fire playing Dumbledore's pet. What did he know of suffering? What did he know of loyalty...what did he know of...dare she even think it... _love?_

"-And what's this I hear of a very happy event taking place in your family this week?" he went on dryly. "My apologies for my earlier tone, but I believe some congratulations are in order all around."

"Congrat...what for?"

"I'm talking of course, about your niece, Nymphadora. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be...so...very... proud." He drew out the last few words with extra long pauses in between them, extending her humiliation. Bellatrix felt her pale cheeks instantly flush red as laughter erupted around the long table once more. She heard Macnair's wheezy laugh above the others as he sounded like he were about to go into heart failure. Bellatrix pounded her fists against the table and looked to Narcissa and Lucius for support, of which they offered her none...probably because after Lucius's many fiascos and Draco's failure to kill Dumbledore on his own, they thought if they stepped a single toe out of line the Dark Lord would kill them without a second thought.

"She is no niece of mine!"

"Enough. Many of our oldest family trees become a little deceased over time. Why not prune yours, to keep it healthy? Unless you'd rather babysit the cubs…"

More laughter. How dare Snape. And from the stock he came from…a _muggle_ of all things almost made a marriage to a werewolf look respectable.

"Alright, back to business," Snape glowered and the laughter faded out as eyes focused on him once more. "We will attack on Saturday when the Order tries to move Potter to his safe location in anticipation of the removal of the Trace on his 17th birthday. The Dark Lord has left me a list of the names of those who will be in attendance in addition to himself: Snape, Selwyn, Travers, Shunpike, Crabbe, Goyle, Rowle, Dolohov…"as Snape read off the names, he seemed to be enjoying the unique way in which he was torturing her. There was no way he would _actually_ leave her out...would he? Then, finally…"...Rodulphus Lestrange and...Bellatrix Lestrange...now, we can expect to be facing members of the Order of the Phoenix, many of whom, as you know, are known Aurors…" Snape did not linger on her name, but instead moved right into the plan, for which Bellatrix was grateful. She didn't want any more laughter directed at her for any reason. She did notice, however, that all three Malfoys had in fact been left off Snape's list...was that his doing? Or the Dark Lord's?

"I'm sorry he left you lot out, Cissy...really...I'm sure you'll be back in the Dark Lord's good graces soon enough, your having lent him your home for headquarters and everything," Bellatrix said softly to Narcissa as they retreated back upstairs after the meeting. Most of the Death Eaters had disapparated back to wherever they lived, including Rodulphus who'd left for Lestrange Manor after Bellatrix told him, more rudely than even she'd intended, not to wait up for her.

"It's really quite alright. Honestly, I probably would have ended up here by myself worring sick over Lucius and Draco, so really this is...well...we'll all be safe," Narcissa Malfoy replied, much to Bellatrix's shock and horror. Since when did the Malfoy family, some of the strongest supporters of the Dark Lord since the beginning, choose cowardice and safety over their dutiful service to him?

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that...really, to hear that come out of your mouth, Cissy...it's disgusting...it's traiterous, is what it is. Why not get the Order to put you up in a sfe house too while they're at it? Maybe you could stay with the Weasley family...they've got what, a whole three bedrooms for the lot of them?" Bellatrix couldn't resist tossing in a dig at her sister, expecting one in return, but Narcissa just looked hurt. And more frail than ever. Bellatrix frowned, thinking of when she and Cissy and Andromeda were growing up together as girls. Narcissa had always been the sick one. The baby of the family, born prematurely when their mother was far too old to have even been thinking about having more children…she tried desperately in a last ditch effort to try to give her husband the son he longed for to carry on the noble Black family name. But instead they'd had Cissy. Smaller than average, pale and sickly with a very weak heart that not even magic could mend. She'd grown up to be the little girl their mother doted on and their father cast aside, the little girl who tried to chase after her older sisters and play with them or ride their hand-me-down toy broomsticks, only to fall off out of breath only two feet off the ground.

Bellatrix saw the ghost of this little girl etched upon her baby sister's features and felt sorry at the sight of it. She reached out for one of Narcissa's small hands, which she clasped tightly in her own.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, Cissy. You know I won't."

"We're not children anymore, Bella. And you know you can't make me that promise. Not when you're so close to him." A tiny tear formed on the outskirts of one of Narcissa's delicate blue eyes and it did not go unnoticed by Bellatrix, who gently brushed it away.

"I can make you that promise _because_ I'm so close to him. He wouldn't hurt you, darling. I can't make promises on behalf of Lucius...my favor only goes so far. But he won't hurt you."

"And what about Draco?"

Narcissa incorrectly interpreted Bellatrix's silence for an answer.

"I would defend my nephew with my life, Cissy. Just like I would defend you."

"But...the Dark Lord-"

"My life."

Rather than go home and spend another miserable night beside the pathetic husband she despised, Bellatrix spent the night in the guest room at Malfoy Manor as she so often did, this time trying to suppress the desire to catch a glimpse of the Dark Lord if he happened to return from wherever he'd gone off to...she hoped he was alright. She'd know if he wasn't, wouldn't she? She pulled up the sleeve of her nightdress and ran her fingertips along the edges of the Dark Mark. She longed for her favor with him to be as good as she told Cissy it was. Maybe if it was...she'd be able to protect Andromeda, too, if for no other reason than despite her marital choice, the blood that ran through her veins was the same as that which ran through Bellatrix's and Narcissa's-the pure and noble blood of black. She sighed and settled back into the pillows as she drifted off somewhat fitifully.

Her thoughts were of her sisters, but her dreams that night, were all Voldemort.


	4. Chapter 4: Kind of Woman

**Chapter 4: Kind of Woman That'll Haunt You**

 **A/N: Thanks again for the kind reviews, favorites and follows. I'm really getting into this story and I've outlined the whole rest of it :D Here's Chapter 4, which I had a ton of fun writing, though I'm already more excited about Chapter 5 and the fallout of what happens at the end of this chapter with Bella and Voldy! So please keep reading and reviewing and I'll keep writing and updating as quickly as I can!**

 **Thank you again and happy reading!**

 **~Sundance~**

 **(Bellatrix)**

"Are you ready, Bella?"

"As I'll ever be. I just wish I'd seen him first...talked to him..." Bellatrix let out the deep breath she'd been holding and double-checked to made sure she had her own wand and at least two spares ready to go, stowed in the pockets of her sleek black traveling robes. She snatched up her Nimbus 2001 and examined it briefly, to make sure, for the fourth time that evening, that it was in prime condition.

"You will," her younger sister Narcissa assured her. "Don't worry about him, just focus on you and getting out of this battle today-preferably after taking down more than a few Order members if I know you as well as I hope I do." Bellatrix smiled. Her sister did know her well. How Bella fancied hitting a few curses in the direction of their blood traitor family members, Tonks and Lupin...as much as she didn't want to hurt Andromeda, she was sick and tired of the way the other Death Eaters taunted her. As if Andromeda's daughter's choices were going to rub off on her in some way and make her a lesser fighter...or worse, a more compassionate one. And she was determined to show them they had nothing to worry about. "But Bella...please don't do anything overtly dangerous, alright? I couldn't bare it if you…"

"Oh, Cissy. I'll be fine...but don't any of you do anything daft like try to catch up with us-or-"

"Why would we? That's something you'd do, not me. Besides, we're fine staying here. We need to hold down headquarters and take care of anyone from our side that gets injured...though best hope it's not you."

"Or the Dark Lord."

"Or the Dark Lord," Narcissa agreed finally.

 **(Voldemort)**

Somewhere dark, in the clouds forming ominously over Little Whinging, Lord Voldemort was waiting. All was quiet and still, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or bark of a dog tied up in the Muggle village below. Voldemort flew higher, studying the air for any changes in pressure, any movement, any indication that it was time to press the tattoo of the skull with the serpent in its mouth on his left forearm. When he did, his first string Death Eaters-by far the more expendable ones, the weaker fighters and those under the Imperius Curse-would know it was time to apparate to his location and fight. If the fighting changed location or if they seemed outmatched, then he would press the mark again, for the second time that night, and his second string Death Eaters would know it was time to join. The second string were his stronger fighters, his long-time loyal supporters, those who'd killed many of the Order between the first wizarding war and the second-Severus, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Yaxley, Crabbe, Goyle, Dolohov, Travers, Selwyn...all those who'd proven themselves capable last time. A blast of cold air blew across Voldemort's face and he knew. Something out there was moving. Something was coming. He pressed his index finger against the tattoo and waited.

All around him, hooded and masked figures apparated, already suspended in the air on their array of broomsticks and eyeing Voldemort nervously in their apprehension and fear, though he hoped they were more afraid of him than the Order-as they ought be.

"Descend. They are coming," he hissed in his imperius, snake-like manner and in a V-formation, like a murder of crows, the descended, Voldemort at their head-point and the first string Death Eaters behind him in two diagonal lines. They soared down, through the clouds, leaving them all soaked through their cloaks in an eerie mist, droplets of which flew off of them in sharp ice-like shards. Then, Voldemort paused and the two diagonal lines came together on either side of him, forming a large circle around the small cluster of figures who'd just propelled themselves into the sky-seven Order members-Voldemort noted instantly. His thirty Death Eaters could take seven Aurors. Four on broomsticks, two on thestrals, one on an enchanted muggle motorcycle. Each Auror shielding a figure that looked like-"

"They all look like Potter! How're we going to tell which one's the real one?" shouted Dawlish from across the circle, stating the obvious as always, dimwitted as he was.

"Figure it out," Voldemort spat and then he gave the signal for the circle to converge upon the 14 Order members in the center, tearing them apart from their formation. Voldemort himself drew higher in the air again and performed a Disillusionment charm on himself so that he could observe the events from above until they found the real Harry Potter or killed enough of the Auror protectors that they could sort through the phonies. There were screams and flashes of green light, red stunning spells, jinxes flying all over. Voldemort circled over the Order members on broomsticks...he knew Potter was most comfortable on a broomstick since he played Quidditch Seeker, so he figured he'd start their. The first pair he swooped over, careful to stay out of the path of any stray curses, the young female Auror with the pink hair he knew to be Bellatrix and Narcissa's niece, and a Harry Potter clutching her waist rather awkwardly-not comfortable enough on a broom to be the real one. Voldemort moved on. The next broom-bound pair he observed were Arthur Weasley and a Harry Potter shouting stunning spells in all directions-too careless. Not Potter. Voldemort was beginning to get frustrated when he noticed two hooded figures falling down to the village below, dead. He directed his wand at their corpses and shouted

" _Confringo!"_ causing the bodies to explode instantly and shower the village below them instead with tiny sparks that extinguished themselves on the way down. These were the expendable fighters, so he didn't concern himself with who they were, only that it wouldn't do his new regime any good to to leave bodies lying around until they'd fully taken over the Ministry. He hovered again over the battle and swooped down over the next pair of Order members he found fighting from a broomstick. Remus Lupin, the werewolf and Bellatrix's new nephew by marriage, shielding another Harry Potter who ducked to avoid a streak of orange light that surged beside him. Not Potter. Potter would be noble; he'd be the one shielding the werewolf, not the other way around.

"My Lord!" rasped a Death Eater whose voice he recognized as McNair's. "There's too many of them!"

Voldemort rolled his eyes, but did not make himself visible to McNair. There weren't too many Aurors for any decent fighters, but he reasoned, most of his first string were dimwitted pawns and confused wizards acting under the imperius curse...not good fighters by any means. With a resolute sigh, he pressed his index finger once more to his Dark Mark and called in his reinforcements to make what he expected would be quick work of the Order. Lest they fail and face his reaction which would promise to be...quite unpleasant.

 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix Lestrange sat in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor clicking her long fingernails impatiently against a creamy granite coffee table. Narcissa Malfoy sat beside her with perfect rigid posture that made Bella's lounging slouch look all the more casual even though she didn't intend for it to. Her husband Rodolphus was pacing around the room with the rest of the second string of Death Eaters which, to Bellatrix's displeasure, included Severus. She tried to suppress the knot that was beginning to form in her stomach as the minutes drug on...he hadn't called them...but that was good, right? That meant they'd probably outnumbered the Order. They were winning...right? She tried once more to keep the knot in her stomach from rising in her throat as a hundred other equally plausible scenarios flashed across her mind, most of them involving the Dark Lord, dead, his body spiraling down to Earth and Muggles below who'd have no idea the magnitude of his loss, how perfect he was...Bellatrix shuddered to try and knock the thoughts out of her, to no avail. Then, just when she felt she could wait no longer, the Mark burned. He was calling. And she would come.

 **(Voldemort)**

As before, a number of cloaked figures in silver masks apparated into the air around him in a circular formation, some of them who'd apparated less cleanly struggled to get a firm hold on the handles of their broomsticks, but everyone who was supposed to be there seemed to have made it without too much issue. "Seven Order Members. Each one guarding a different charge disguised as Potter. Find the real one, kill the spares," he ordered and then he gave them the command to descend and fight. They obeyed immediately and kicked off on their brooms, propelling downwards into the thick of the battle. Voldemort himself resumed his circling from above, gripping Lucius Malfoy's wand tightly, preparing for the moment they found Potter. Without his usual wand that shared a core with Potter's, he should be able to kill him successfully without any surprise magic trickery...or at least according to the wandmaker Ollivander, he would be. Voldemort scanned the battle below, though it was difficult to see between the mist from the clouds, the different colored sparks of light from all the spells, and the rippling of all the Death Eaters' cloaks in the cold wind. Finally, he spotted another Auror on a broomstick...one he hadn't paid much mind to before...Alastor Moody, recognizable due to the sizable chunk missing from the side of his head. He was the head of the Auror department, the most skilled wizard present, and he had with him, a Potter who looked quite comfortable on a broom. Voldemort smiled and began to descend. _It had to be._

He pointed Lucius's wand at himself and removed the Disillusionment, letting himself become fully visible as his white skin glowed pearly in the moonlight. But a hooded figure who hadn't been expecting him to suddenly materialize tried to swerve, but in his shock, collided with Voldemort from the side and Lucius Malfoy's wand slipped out of his hand, falling.

"My Lord!" the hooded figure cried out...Selwyn...evidently not realizing the magnitude of what he'd just done. Voldemort ducked as the Auror Mad-Eye Moody noticed him and sent the green jet of a killing curse in his direction. Then another, which missed him by inches as Voldemort, wandless, continued to swerve around the curses.

"My Lord! Take one of mine!" Bellatrix. Voldemort turned aside to see one of his best Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange, flying up alongside him and tossing him what he knew to be one of her spare wands, but with calculated precision, Moody reached out and caught it before it could reach his outstretched hand.

"Your wand, Selwyn! Your wand!"he hissed after Selwyn, who was circling Mad-Eye and the Potter aside him, but before Selwyn could act, the Auror Mad-Eye raised his wand and suddenly Bellatrix Lestrange was gone, her broom was hurtling towards the earth and a small black spider was leaping to Mad-Eye's neck. He knew Bellatrix was an unregistered Animagus...but a spider? And then the Potter disapparated (not the real one) and Bellatrix, as the spider, and the Auror were both falling.

"My Lord! We've found him! We've found the real Potter! He's with the giant Hagrid on the motorcycle!" someone called. Voldemort's eyes instantly focused in on the enchanted motorcycle, zooming past him at top sped, as it was pursued from behind by four of his Death Eaters. Time seemed to stop, or at the very least, slow down. But it was all happening in a matter of seconds.

Voldemort's eyes were torn from the retreating motorcycle on one side of him and the place where the spider and the Auror had fallen on the other. With one final, hapless glance after the motorcycle now spitting green fire in its wake, he pivoted his flying form and sped downwards, towards a little black spider no bigger than his thumb. A little black spider who'd not only just ruined his plan, but one who must have very foolishly thought she'd just saved his life.

 **A/N: Well, did you like it? I hope it wasn't too confusing with Bella randomly transforming into a small venomous spider and biting Mad Eye Moody's neck, but like Voldy said (or narrated, rather) it all happened in a matter of seconds and I was trying to mirror that effect. What do you think about him choosing to save her over pursuing Harry and Hagrid? How do you think he'll react to her ruining his plan (if she survives, that is)? Let me know in the reviews section!**


	5. Chapter 5: Running Through the Garden

**Chapter 5: Running Through the Garden**

 **A/N: It's Chapter time! Yay! I'm almost at 10 reviews, so I'm really excited. Maybe with this update, we could reach 10? Or even 15? (an author can dream :P) Anyway, i've outlined the entire rest of the story and it's going to be about 14 or 15 chapters which puts us at almost the halfway point with still a lot of charming Voldy has to do if he wants to be in love with someone before May/the battle of Hogwarts. I had a question by a reviewer asking about the story and the timeline of the Harry Potter books. I won't exactly be departing from timeline quite yet, as the battle of hogwarts is going to be a very important part of my story, but moving forward after this chapter, I won't be writing too much about things that happened in the books since...you know...we have the books for that. Just think that over the next few chapters we're still in the general timeframe of Deathly Hallows even though I'll be writing about my own imagined (head canon) events-look out for a lot of (kinda one-sided at first) Bellamort in the next chapter and possibly an epic Death Eater Halloween party in October!**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **~Sundance~**

 **(Bellatrix)**

Somewhere in the distance, Bellatrix heard voices.

" _...-be alright?"_

" _...fell over a hundred feet…"_

" _...tell her he's dead…?"_ Bellatrix tried to move, but she felt like her entire body was frozen...literally...because she was very cold as well. She struggled to open her eyes, but they remained jammed shut as well. Someone had her in a full Body-Bind Curse. Shit.

"She's waking up, I think."

"I know. I had to put her in a Body Bind because she kept thrashing about and intermittently screaming for the Dark Lord while I was trying to heal her-here, I'll take it off…" Bellatrix felt warm relief wash over her as she recognized the voices as belonging to Narcissa and Lucius. But the warmth persisted and even grew stronger-no, it wasn't inside her. Narcissa was lifting the Body Bind. Bellatrix flexed her wrists and ankles instinctively as they were freed from the jinx and when the little bubble of warmth reached her eyes, she opened them immediately and let the details of the guest room of Malfoy Manor swim into her line of vision. The red walnut sleigh bed with its silky silver sheets and fern green down comforter. The walls, painted an off white cream and adorned with a single Slytherin tapestry on one side of the room. It was the room that had over time become a treasure trove of Narcissa, Lucius and now Draco's old school things...Slytherin regalia, Quidditch awards and the like. The wall opposite the Slytherin tapestry was covered by a large square bookcase used to store a number of old textbooks, photo albums, weathered cookbooks and anything else not worth displaying in the rest of the house, but not the sort of thing one would throw out, either. The room was very bright, though lit only by a single silver chandelier hanging over the bed and catching Narcissa and Lucius's white blonde hair in a strange glow.

"What's going on?"

"Erm...Bella, dear...what do you remember of the battle?" Narcissa asked uncomfortably. _Remember?_ Shit. How long had she been knocked out for?

"I was at the battle and the Dark Lord's wand fell and I tossed him one of mine, but the Auror caught it instead and I...I...it was just instinctive. He was going to kill him and if I cursed him I risked hitting the Dark Lord or Harry Potter, who we were supposed to keep alive at all costs of course, so I...I..."

"You transformed into your Animagus form." The details of the battle had never quite left the forefront of her mind, they'd just taken a bit of a back seat to the initial shock of waking up in a full body bind. Now that she knew everything was alright, she laughed at the absurdity of it all-she'd transformed into a spider and leapt through the sky at an Auror with the intention of biting him and injecting poison into his blood stream, all in the name of the Dark Lord.

"Yes. I became the spider," she replied with haughty confidence. "I bit the Auror. He let go of the broom and I expected us to stay airborne because of Potter but he disapparated and...we fell."

"If it's any consolation, you did kill the Auror, dear."

"What do you mean consolation? It's wonderful. I'm alive. The Dark Lord is...he's okay, isn't he?"

"Well yes, but my dear I didn't want to have to tell you this until you were feeling better...but he's quite furious with you." The world stopped turning for a second as Bellatrix was hit by the weight of what Narcissa said like a stunning jinx to the chest.

"With ME? Why? I saved him! I finally proved myself!"

"Well, when the Dark Lord saved you from the fall, he missed out on the opportunity to kill Harry Potter."

"But Potter disapparated right under our noses. That's not my fault! Surely he -"

"It wasn't the real Potter. It was an Order Member in disguise," Narcissa explained gently as the horrible reality began to sink in. "The real Potter escaped with Hagrid beyond the protective shield of his safehouse before the Dark Lord could reach him...and he was carrying you at the time, so he...he called off the battle." It sunk in. Fully. Completely. And Bellatrix felt her insides lurch. They would have won. The Dark Lord could have killed Harry Potter...but he didn't. Because of her. And now he was angry with her...as he had every right to be. She didn't know what to make of it and didn't know if it was the shock of the healing spells or her injuries or all the magnitude of what she'd done or even the pitying way in which Cissy and Lucius, usually the weak ones, were looking at her, but she burst into loud wracking sobs without any warning and Narcissa rushed to the bed to sit beside her and pull her close.

"Oh Bella, it's alright...it's just..." Narcissa was rubbing her back in small circles trying to comfort her while Lucius stood by the door staring at them with that pitying look again and it all made her want to vomit over the side of the bed.

"GET AWAY FROM ME! BOTH OF YOU! I WANT TO SEE THE DARK LORD!" She spat while trying to hold back more tears, which resulted in her making an odd frog-like choking noise without meaning to.

"My dear...I know how upset you are, but I hardly think..." Narcissa pulled away from the bed, seeming to be struggling for words and looked across to her husband for help.

"He's not available at the moment. He's planning something with the other Death Eaters downstairs...I'm supposed to be heading down there now actually...well, I was told to join the meeting as soon as I could offer some update on Bellatrix's condition," Lucius cut in and with an approving nod from Narcissa, he strode from the room, his noble silver and black walking stick in tow as if to indicate his rise in status, his return to favor. Lucius was back in favor...because Bellatrix had failed so horribly, worse than any Malfoy had ever...she was crying again, even harder this time and no matter how or what she tried to make it stop (clenching all the muscles in her face, squeezing her eyes shut, holding her breath, clamping a hand over her mouth...) the tears only seemed to flow more vigorously and her sobs only seemed to get louder.

"Bella, dear..." Narcissa looked up and walked over to the door, craning her neck to look into the hallway to perhaps see if they were being overheard or if Lucius was really gone, then she shut it gently and returned to sit on the edge of the sleigh bed. "I didn't think it was the right time to tell you...you're upset enough...and well, you'll find out soon enough and I'd rather it come from me and not someone else...I expect it's better this way...all at once like taking off a band aid..." Narcissa sounded nervous and Bellatrix shivered, not from cold this time, but from thinking this could mean nothing good. Then, a sudden horrific thought jolted through her and brought fresh tears to her eyes. What if the Dark Lord wasn't really downstairs...what if he'd been injured or worse...and it'd somehow been her fault. She couldn't bear it. She would die.

"Your husband, Rodolphus...he didn't survive the battle. He's dead."

Oh. Bellatrix struggled to process this new and unexpected bit of information and how it affected her.

"Who..who killed him?"

"We can't be sure. But Travers reckons it was our niece and nephew, Nymphadora and that werewolf."

"Oh." She carefully processed this new bit of information, wondering how it affected her, really, outside of her initial shock. Rodolphus Lestrange was dead and she, Bellatrix, was a widow...Was it too horrible that what she felt alongside her numbness was relief? No more would she have to walk those long, cold, dim halls of Lestrange Manor and pretend it felt like home to her. No more would she have to lie in bed beside him, feel his body trying to mold itself against hers in the night as she remained rigid in the discomfort of how it never felt right. No more would she have to endure the disdainful sniffs of the Malfoys whenever they thought she said something too flirtacious to the Dark Lord or wore something too low-cut in the vicinity of anyone but her husband. And before Rodolphus, it was her parents, always setting some standard...some expectation of pureblood femininity. For the first time in her life, she was...free.

Narcissa seemed to be waiting for the right reaction from Bellatrix. More tears, maybe. Or a scream. Or anger or guilt or even disbelief...anything to prove she'd cared for Rodolphus in the way she was supposed to as his wife.

"Bella?" she prodded gently and extended a hand to offer some bit of comfort that Bellatrix did not need or want. She swatted the hand away and drew further back into the bed covers.

"I think...I think I'd like to be left alone for a bit...to let it sink in...if that's alright." Narcissa's gaze softened even more and Bellatrix realized with a wave of sudden nausea that her sister probaby thought she was afraid of showing all the emotions that were supposed to be buoyed up inside of her instead of the empty void that occupied her heart in their place.

"Of course, dear. Well, you let us know if you need anything and I'll be back up to check on you a little later. You should probably get some rest anyway."

A week went by. A week. Maybe even longer...a week (or more) of milling around Malfoy Manor in a nightdress as Narcissa urged her to "rest and heal" even though Bellatrix felt quite healed and back to herself. A week without news. But most significantly, a week without any sight of or message from the Dark Lord. Finally, on the evening of the last day of July, she heard something, and it did not make her happy.

"Bella, dear! Bella! The most wonderful thing has happened-Oh, you're going to be so pleased!" Narcissa shrieked breathlessly, banging open the door to the guestroom of Malfoy Manor without knocking. Bellatrix had not been home since Rodolphus died. She was up on this particular night, writing a letter to the Dark Lord-an apology. She knew he wouldn't read it...knew she wouldn't even give it to him...but it was something. Something to make her feel like she was being...useful.

"What?" Bellatrix asked suspiciously. The last time she'd seen Narcissa so excited, so out of her usual demure perfect pureblooded shell, she'd been about to announce she was pregnant with Draco.

"The Ministry has fallen! The Dark Lord has taken over! Well, not openly, of course...he's acting through Thicknesse...that bloke Yaxley imperiused last week...but that's beside the point, my dear, we might as well have won!" Narcissa exclaimed, still sounding breathless, like she'd run a long way before coming up here to tell her.

"What? You've just found out?"

"No, I've only just got back-Lucius, Draco and I-have just gotten back!"

"From where?"

"The battle, of course-though it wasn't particularly big, it-"

"A battle? There was a battle?"

 _There was a battle, Bellatrix. And not only did the Dark Lord not think to include you, he didn't even think to tell you._

Bellatrix did not sleep all night. The morning of August 1st dawned frustratingly sunny, like even the day itself was laughing at her. She remained curled up in the silver silk sheets and blanket all through the morning, however, refusing to go downstairs and accept breakfast with her family or anyone else who happened to be around, no matter how hungry she got. She'd cried herself out by midmorning and considered herself to be quite past the point of moping anyway. No, what she needed was a plan. She needed to remember who she was: Bellatrix, whose name meant female warrior, longtime most loyal and faithful servant of the Dark Lord...Bellatrix, who'd been passing the time up in this guestroom feeling sorry for herself under the guise that she was grieving for a husband she'd never really cared about in the first place. The time for all of that was long past and she needed to get back to herself and do something that would remind the Dark Lord, hell, remind all of them, of how powerful she was. But what...what would make the Dark Lord prouder of her than anything...killing Harry Potter was out of the question. For whatever reason, he'd maintained, due to something from that prophecy Lucius had destroyed at the Ministry two years ago, that he had to be the one to kill Harry and if anyone else did it, he'd flay them. What he was always on her case about was the fact that she hadn't yet pruned her family tree of its blood traitor branches...Snape had said the same thing at that dreadful Death Eater meeting before the battle of Little Whinging…" _Many of our oldest family trees become a little deceased over time. Why not prune yours, to keep it healthy? Unless you'd rather babysit the cubs…"_

Ugh. Bellatrix sat up in bed and tugged at her long black curls in frustration. The curtains were still drawn over the bedside window, but sunlight was really streaming through, sending beams of soft green light across the room. It must have been getting to midday...if she was going to act, it would have to be soon...while she was feeling so heated about it all and certainly before Cissy could get to her to talk her out of it. She was a grown adult...and she'd been given no direct instruction from the Dark Lord...so they couldn't _keep her_ here. She could leave whenever she wanted...still...Narcissa would probably suspect something suspicious if Bella said she was going anywhere other than home, to Lestrange Manor, a perfectly plausible story since she hadn't been back there in over a week. But if she left for home and _just happened_ to encounter Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin in her... _travels._ And if she _just happened_ to kill them...and maybe bring Harry Potter, tortured into weakness by the Cruciatus Curse, straight into the Dark Lord's hands...well, she would not only return herself to favor with the Dark Lord, but rise above all of them...even precious little Snivellus. She would not only be bringing him what he wanted most in the world, but she'd be ridding herself of the blood traitors poisoning her own status and... _pureing up her blood line again for him,_ just as he'd done with his own family so long ago. She'd finally be good enough. She'd finally be _worthy_ of him.

But there was only one foreseeable problem. Tonks, Lupin and Potter could be literally anywhere. Surely the Death Eaters knew something...but who could she ask...who could she pester for information without them suspecting anything...then suddenly, it occurred to her and she wondered why she hadn't thought of this brilliant solution earlier this week when they'd first started keeping her in the dark.

"Oh, Slinky!" she called. And with a loud _crack,_ the house elf materialized at once. Slinky had been in the servitude of the Malfoy family since the Potter boy set Dobby free and not only was she far more loyal to the family, she'd developed a special liking for "Mistress Lestrange" who had never hit her or punished her and had even, on some occasions, 'left about' silk pillowcases for the elf to wear when she was serving an important meeting or event and wanted to look nice for the family she respected and served.

"Yes, Mistress Lestrange?" she asked as she looked up at Bellatrix with wide and longing blue eyes.

"Oh nothing, Slinky, I was just longing for a little company is all."

"Mistress Lestrange is desiring company from Slinky? Slinky is most honored."

"I'm bored, Slinky...I'm not allowed up and about until I heal and I feel like I'm missing out on everything." Bellatrix sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and drawing in a heavy sigh, as if to outwardly indicate the extent of her boredom.

"Mistress Lestrange is missing out? If Slinky can do anything to be of service to Mistress Lestrange-" The cream-colored elf was standing on her tiptoes now, looking quite comical in her black pillowcase and the shimmery red paper Christmas bow she kept taped to her forehead, like a gift-wrapped doll gone horribly, hideously wrong.

"Well Slinky, I'd certainly be most obliged if you could catch me up on what's going on in the world...Harry Potter, for instance? Have they heard anything? Have they spoken of him?"

"Well, they were saying last night at the meeting-well Slinky wasn't allowed in other than to serve drinks, Mistress-but they did say something about a wedding. And a birthday. That Harry Potter celebrated a birthday last night and was going to a wedding today. A...a...blood traitor marrying a French girl, but...oh Slinky really shouldn't have said-oh Slinky is going to be punished so if anyone finds out she told-"

"No no, Slinky! It's alright, I'm Mistress Lestrange, I'm part of the family you serve...and if I weren't injured, I'd have been at that meeting and would have heard it all for myself anyway!"

"Slinky supposes so, Mistress...but..." Slinky went on, but Bellatrix was only half listening. She knew Harry Potter turned 17 yesterday and was no longer under the Trace. But a wedding today? A blood traitor and a French girl? Wait...hadn't the Dark Lord toyed with the idea of attacking a wedding earlier in the month of July? Back when they thought Potter was being moved on the 31st...before Snape told them about the date change...some bloke Fenrir Greyback had bitten was getting married. Some bloke who-Weasley. The Weasley with the scars who'd been riding the thestral the night of the battle of Little Whinging. Bellatrix smiled deviously...oh if Potter was going to be at this wedding at the Burrow tonight, surely there'd be Aurors there...likely one Nymphadora Tonks and one Remus Lupin...all of them there in one place, like a present gift wrapped with a bow on top and her name on it. She'd just need the proper disguise to get her past what would likely be decently stringent security. She needed to show up as somebody...somebody who they wouldn't be surprised to see. Somebody who Bellatrix knew enough about that she could answer any security question...someone who'd often enough been mistaken for her twin. Her sister Andromeda.

"Oh Slinky, I need a favor..."

Three hours later, the Bellatrix Lestrange who stood in front of the elegant mirror in the guest bedroom at Malfoy Manor where she, barely a week ago had admired a new dress she'd bought to wear to the Death Eater meeting, no longer recognized herself. Two swigs of Polyjuice Potion and a stowed flask of it later, Bellatrix really did look like the twin sister of Andromeda Tonks.

"And you're sure she'll be asleep for the whole wedding?" She asked Slinky for probably the tenth time since the elf had returned.

"Yes, Mistress Lestrange."

"But you're sure you didn't harm her?"

"No, Mistress Lestrange...like Slinky has been telling you, Slinky snuck Mistress Tonks the Sleeping Drought and then when she was asleep in her own bed, Slinky took some of her hairs, miss."

"Thank you, Slinky...truly...and remember you are to tell NO ONE of this...NO ONE. Not even Mistress Or Master Malfoy...not even the Dark Lord, are we clear?" Bellatrix prompted.

"All clear, Miss Lestrange although Slinky may need to iron her fingers, Miss, for what she has been doing to a member of the Black family. And she will need to be ironing them again for keeping secrets from Master and Mistress Malfoy-" Slinky whined pitifully and examined her long and knobby fingers, pristine and free of scars, despite all the times she threatened to iron them.

"Not necessary. I gave you an order and you followed it. But I gave you another order and you need to follow it or you will be punished...by me...far worse than you could ever punish yourself. So who are you going to tell about making Andromeda fall asleep?"

"No one, Mistress Lestrange."

"Good. And who will you tell about me leaving the manor disguised as Andromeda?"

"Slinky will be telling no one, Mistress Lestrange."

Perfect.

Bellatrix Lestrange, disguised as the middle Black sister Andromeda, with curls that were nut brown instead of black and arranged in delicate ringlets framing her face, apparated just outside the Burrow, where a range of noises in the vicinity signaled to her that she'd come to the right place. From the small beaded ivory handbag she carried to conceal her Polyjuice potion and extra wands, Bellatrix pulled out an antique hand mirror to examine her reflection once more and assure that she looked as un-Bellatrix as possible. She'd chosen to wear a thin ivory dress that matched her handbag for the occasion-knee-length and modest in the chest area, with fitted papery sleeves that extended just past her wrists to hide the Dark Mark. And because Andromeda was Andromeda, the most grotesquely feminine of the three Black sisters, and wouldn't leave a dress like this so plain, Bellatrix had added by magic, a waistbelt of light pink roses and strung a few matching roses through her hair. She certainly _looked_ enough like Andromeda, but she'd have to carry herself like Andromeda as well...being all falsely meek and sweet to everyone, but with an aura of superiority as well-rather like Narcissa with a smile. With a twinge of regret, she made one last hasty decision to stow the reliable twisted walnut wand she'd had since she was a child going off to Hogwarts (which made it distinctly recongizable as hers by anyone who'd ever dueled her and managed to survive), and replaced it with one of the spares from her bag. Taking in a deep breath and trying not to imagine how pissed the Dark Lord would be if she failed in her vigilante endeavor, Bellatrix set off down the grassy hillside to the Burrow, the wedding reception, and hopefully the murder of Nymphadora and Remus.

The sun was setting over the valley, causing the whole thing to look sickeningly picturesque-a large white marquee with gold flags stood against the backdrop of orange fading into purple against the horizon. Bellatrix heard music, laughter and the clinking of glasses and china, telling her that the wedding was indeed over and the reception had begun, making it the perfect time for her to slip in and do what should have been done years ago. She was surprised at how...unguarded everything was. People flitted this way and that talking and dancing. Bellatrix slid, seemingly unnoticed, aside one of the long metal poles supporting the Marquee canopy. Several waiters in white scuffled about with trays of liquor, treats and leftover slices of wedding cake. The people who weren't on the dance floor in front of the band now playing an old Weird Sisters hit, were clustered about at small tables on the other side of the giant tent, chatting and eating. Bellatrix took a steaming red cocktail off of one of the trays, trying to blend in, and gave it a disdainful sniff before setting it down again. Andromeda would never drink that.

She finally settled at a table near the very back with a glass of champagne and a slice of sugar bread with lemon frosting. She tried to occupy herself with eating and tried not to meet anyone's eyes. The longer she could plan and avoid answering questions, the better.

"Seat taken? No? Good! I'm a hundred and seven!" Bellatrix glanced furtively at the rather large old woman with red-head who'd just dropped down into the empty seat beside her, splattering the white table cloth ominously with a few droplets of the red wine sloshing around in her goblet.

"Who're you? I don't reckon I've had the pleasure." The old woman was actually lowering her spectacles to get a better look at Bellatrix, who tried to toss a few curls in front of her face while making it look like she was only adjusting the roses in her hair.

"I'm Andromeda. Andromeda Tonks-Nymphadora's mother," Bellatrix replied, trying to sound as confident as possible while also raising her voice up an octave or so to sound more like Andromeda.

"Nymphadora? Oh, Remus Lupin's new wife? Nice chap, unfortunate about his...condition...you know…" Bellatrix rolled her eyes and then immediately coughed into the back of her hand to cover it up, but the old woman hadn't missed it.

"So you don't approve, I see? I daresay I must agree with you...I can only imagine...if one of _my_ children had run off with someone like that…"

"And who are you?" Bellatrix asked sternly, but before the old woman could answer, a young girl with a short pink bob came tearing across the tent and took the unoccupied seat on the other side of the woman she thought was Andromeda.

"Mother! You've made it! I was only just telling Remus I'd been getting worried-" Here she was, her blood-traitor, right here beside her. Bellatrix had to repress a knawing urge to kill her on the spot and then disapparate imemdiately...Too risky...not worth the exposure in front of all these people. She had to get Nymphadora alone...but how to... _I'll assume she's pregnant and asks all sorts of nosy questions..._ she thought and smirkd to herself. It was just the sort of thing Andromeda would do. She could just hear her in her mind " _Oh and Tonks, you pregnant with a werewolf no less! You have to be careful all the time"_

"Nymphadora-"

"How many times do I have to remind you, it's _Tonks,_ mother!"

"Alright, Tonks, then. I was hoping for a word with you...alone if possible. I'm afraid it's quite important and it can't wait-"

"Is it about Dad? Why didn't he come with you?"

"Come on and I'll tell you-" She lead the unsuspecting, but now mildly concerned looking Tonks outside the tent. She didn't want to kill her too close to the wedding, as that would be suspicious, but if she could kill and dispose of Tonks quietly, she could sneak back in and find the werewolf.

"Mother...why are we walking so far? What is it? What's wrong?" Forget unsuspecting. Fearing Tonks was on to her, Bellatrix laid a hand stealthily over the sleeve where she'd concealed the spare wand.

"Mother...what's…." Tonks gestured to Bellatrix's hair, rapidly darkening before their eyes. It was at that precise moment, with Tonks gazing horrorstruck as the realization of what was going on began to dawn on her, that Bellatrix realized she'd left the beaded handbag with her good wand and the extra polyjuice potion back in the tent.

She drew her spare wand, a somewhat unreliable cherry thing, at the same time as Tonks drew her own.

"Aunt Bella, what the hell do you think you're doing, coming here tonight?"

" _Avada Kedavra_!" she hissed the curse at Tonks, but the cherry wand was shoddy and the spell missed Tonks by mere centimeters. Bellatrix took off into a run. If she could just grab her bag with her wand and disapparate, she could return to the guest room of Malfoy Manor and maybe the Dark Lord would never have to find out about this.

" _Accio handbag! Accio wand!_ " she shouted desperately as Tonks began to gain ground.

" _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra_!" Bellatrix continued to shoot killing curses over her shoulder as she ran to intercept the bag containing her wand that was now shooting out of the tent towards her.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " Something huge and dark, a wolf of sorts, shot out of Tonk's wand and knocked into Bellatrix, bowling her over into the dirt as it plowed past her and into the tent, presumably to warn the others of her approach. There were screams as Tonk's voice rang out through the tent: _Death Eaters have infiltrated. I've got Bellatrix Lestrange._

Forget the wand. She'd just have to make do with what she had and get out of here.

" _Stupefy!"_ cried Tonks and Bellatrix felt like she'd been punched in the stomach. With the wind knocked out of her momentarily, she rolled over on the ground and then, gripping the cherry wand, she pointed it directly at Tonks.

" _Avada-"_

" _Expelliarmus!_ Get away from my wife!" Remus Lupin stood over her, holding the cherry wand in his hand and she noticed a grey-haired, bearded Auror heading up behind him. Damn. It struck her at that precise moment, lying on the ground, wandless and surrounded by three enemies with hundreds more mere feet away, with no one knowing where she was, how poorly planned this entire "operation" had been, though it had seemed so simple and foolproof mere hours before. She didn't see how she was going to get out of it and, knowing he'd probably kill her, even knowing that he _should_ kill her given how disobedient and downright stupid she'd been, but preferring to die by his hand than at the hand of the enemy, she rolled up her sleeve, pressed her right index finger to the Mark and wailed.

Bellatrix blinked open her eyes a few times, struggling to pry them open through a layer of dry mascara and when she finally succeeded, she realized she was, for the second time in two weeks, settled in a bed with bandages wrapped taut around her midsection...but this time, she was not anywhere she recognized. The bed was the softest she'd ever slept in, the blankets green like at Malfoy Manor, but thicker and quilted rather than down. And there was the presence of a rushing sound, like she was underwater. After stretching her limbs from their disuse, Bellatrix slipped out of the bed to look for either of her wands and investigate her surroundings. No enemy would have treated her this well, which was only a small consolation since her wand didn't seem to be on the bedside table, nor anywhere caught in the bed covers. Her feet felt cold instantly upon contact with the floor, which was made of a shiny, hard black stone that in some places when it caught the light just right, glittered green and silver. The walls, too, seemed to be made of this stone material which created a cave-like atmosphere in the strange bedroom-all except for one corner, where small sections of the wall were covered in what looked like black vinyl. She approached this area cautiously, having deemed it the source of the rushing sound and upon closer inspection, she noticed that the sheets of black vinyl were actually curtains covering, presumably, windows set into the stone and the rushing sound was coming from outside of these windows.

"Feeling _curious,_ are we?" Bellatrix jumped at the sound of the voice and reached instinctively for her wand, which she already knew, wasn't anywhere nearby. Bluffing, she spun on her heel with her hand perched atop her cloaked right arm as if her wand was there and ready, just out of sight.

 _Shit,_ she thought, for there, striding across the room, was the Dark Lord himself.


	6. Chapter 6: Be My Guest

**Chapter 6: Be My Guest**

 **A/N: Hey! So so sorry about the delay in the update. I've been feeling a little under the weather for the past week or so, but I'm feeling better now and happy to present a new chapter that I hope you'll enjoy! Thank you so much for the reviews and for getting me over 10 :) I'll try to thank you/make it up to you by trying to post a chapter at least every other day this week because I really love my readers.**

 **Thank you again for keeping up with the story and without further ado, I present: Chapter 6!**

 **~Sundance~**

 **(Voldemort)**

 _You must find the one ready and willing to die for you. And learn to love them as they love you..._ the old witch's words words echoed in Voldemort's mind as his eyes came to rest on the woman before him. She had proven herself, countlessly now, willing to die for him. Most recently, at the Battle Over Little Whinging. And as much as he told himself it didn't matter, that self-sacrifice was only the mark of a loyal servant, he'd never been able to let her go. He'd been confused and then furious when she'd summoned him to the Weasley hovel to save her after she'd attempted some insolent plot on her niece's life, but gazing at her now...turned away from him, fussing with the curtains, her long black curls glowing slightly red in the torchlight, all his earlier anger with her abated and he was left to dwell on the fact that, once again, for whatever reason, he'd felt a sort of...pull...to save her, like an invisible force he couldn't escape from, yet it didn't scare him like any other invisible force surely would. He didn't think he knew how to love her as the prophecy demanded...he still didn't think it was possible to love her or anyone, though he couldn't quite shake Madam Rhiannon's words: " _Wasn't there a time...If only briefly, when you believed yourself unable to conquer Death? How is Love any different?_ _As love magic has conquered you once before, you'd be a fool to let it conquer you again."_ He would be a fool, certainly and as such he would not, could not, let love magic conquer him again. Did Bellatrix _love_ him? The word felt so foreign, even in his mind...she'd tried to save him, but it didn't mean she loved him. Not yet anyway. Sure she was strong, undeniably attractive, and fiercely loyal, but he'd have to be sure she loved him before he wasted too much time he didn't have. Three petals of the enchanted rose had already fallen.

"Feeling _curious,_ are we?" Bellatrix jumped a bit at the sound of his voice and turned around very sharply-looking very much like her usual self, yet not quite like herself at the same time. She of course was still wearing the dress she'd worn to the wedding and she had-he had to stifle a laugh-flowers in her hair. She reached for her sleeve, he knew, for her wand-not the cherry spare wand she always insisted on carrying around, though it had yet to really be useful, but her wand-walnut and dragon heartstring and incredibly loyal to her.

He held it out to her with his hand outstretched.

"My _wand_!" shrieked Bellatrix, and she ran towards it on sight. Voldemort laughed and Bellatrix stopped in her tracks and dipped her head, regaining her composure and blushing slightly. He knew. She thought he was angry.

"I'm not upset with you," said Voldemort. "In fact, I should have anticipated something like this might happen. You are very independent and you have no fear...it's part of what makes you one of my best Death Eaters…"

Voldemort surprised even himself. He wasn't enraged AND he was _complimenting_ her?

For a moment, Bellatrix said nothing. She wouldn't meet his eye. He held out the wand to her again and she took it from him very quickly and nervously from him before taking several steps back and dropping to the ground in a deep curtsy.

"My Lord…" she whispered. "Why...why did you save me when I have failed you so... _miserably_." Voldemort found he couldn't answer her, because he wasn't entirely sure himself. All he knew was that something had happened when he saw her lying on the ground at that blood traitor hovel, surrounded by Order members...and he thought, for a moment, that she was...that they'd killed her. And her final dying act had been to call him to her. And he felt something visceral...like his organs were shriveling up and caving in on themselves at the same time. He blasted the enemies out of the way and apparated away with her, here, to the Manor that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, and when she came to, he could breathe again.

"It's not the first time I've saved you...it's the second, I believe," he mused, thinking of another night, a recent night...the falling spider and a jet of green light. An enchanted motorcycle speeding towards the moon...that spider, falling...falling...

"Third," Bellatrix corrected sharply. "You saved me at the Ministry of Magic two years ago, when I was trapped under that statue-remember? But you didn't answer my question..."

"I would have thought that would have been obvious. You are one of my most loyal servants. To lose you would be harmful to our cause in the long run." Was it so obvious? Sometimes, when Voldemort looked at Bellatrix, he wanted to strangle her like he'd wanted to strangle that old swamp witch-wrap both arms around her neck and kill her the muggle way, squeezing like Nagini squeezed her prey, while Bellatrix struggled and kicked against him, finally falling silent, her eyes enlarged and bugging out of her skull in a sort of mocking horror...yet, she was the only Death Eater he'd never outwardly threatened to kill...And other times, when she drew near to him, he felt a curious sensation in his skin, like there were tiny insects crawling over his arms… leaving small impressions with the bottoms of their feet and their antenae...and the first few times it happened, he'd been quite concerned until he began associating the feeling with being near to Bellatrix and even began to find it...pleasurable.

Sometimes, when Death Eaters talked about her or made comments like they wanted to _drag her to their beds by her hair and rip off her corset_ , and other horrors... he clutched whatever he was holding so tightly that his white knuckles started turning red. And other times, he too, saw how they might be able to glean some pleasure from biting into her plump breasts...but when they spoke of _slashing_ them, his knuckles turned red again...

And then there were the dreams…He'd been having the same one ever since he'd met with that swamp witch, well, ever since the first night in recent memory that Bellatrix had almost died really. He'd dream that he was waking and yet he couldn't move. He tried to move, willed himself to lift an ankle or a finger, but he couldn't. Always, fear coursed through him. Was he dead? Had someone discovered one of his Horcruxes? Is this what it felt like to have one destroyed? But then he'd sense a presence in the room, always the same one, and then in a flash of purple light, she would be there on his chest, pressing down with her elbows and constricting his air movement while a few stringy curls brushed against his face. And then she would be kissing him as she caressed his rib cage with light force, her fingers moving lower...lower…

And that prophecy...was she the one? Was she the one whose _love_ would ensure their success when the fifth month died?

Bellatrix hadn't said anything since he'd said he saved her because she was a good servant and watching her now he thought she looked...sad? Angry? Or maybe he was hallucinating it. Voldemort had never been good at distinguishing different emotions on others faces or through their body language, and he attributed this to not ever having too many of his own individual emotions to distinguish.

"My Lord?" she asked finally.

"Yes?"

"If I may ask...what's behind this curtain?" She pointed to the black vinyl sheets and as she did so, Voldemort heard the usual rushing sound seemingly magnified to twice its usual volume. He pointed his wand in the direction of the curtains and they opened on command, revealing a large floor-to-ceiling window and the view it conveyed: a large waterfall splashing over several boulders in the underground cave this guest room was built around.

" _Wow_ ," Bellatrix whispered, awe-struck. "Where are we, my Lord?"

"Welcome, Bellatrix, to the Manor that was designed by and once lived in by Salazar Slytherin, himself. As I am his last descendent and heir, it is now...my private home." She looked so shocked she probably would have fallen over if he'd prodded her.

"Your...but I thought...then who…" She seemed quite unable to form a complete thought and settled on gesturing to the bandages around her midsection, their outline just visible through the thin gauzy fabric of her dress.

"Ah. I hope you don't mind...I took it upon myself to heal you here." He didn't know why he hoped she didn't mind. Why did it matter if she minded...he was the Dark Lord and he didn't have to answer to her...even still...

"You...healed...me?"

"Yes, and do stop looking at me like that. It's pathetic. I couldn't exactly take you to St. Mungo's now, could I? What other choice did I have?" To his relief, Bellatrix's soppy and weak-looking smile curled into her usual sneer and she didn't ask him why letting her die hadn't been a possible choice. He was grateful, because if she had asked, he wouldn't have had an answer to give. He hoped further, that she didn't notice his hesitation, the _softness_ with which he'd been treating her...because though she'd certainly enjoy it, Voldemort had to come to terms with the fact that it was starting to scare him. Twice now...no, three times..., he'd missed opportunities to kill Harry Potter, fulfill the original prophecy and take over the wizarding world-all to save this woman's life when she may not have even needed saving in the first place.

"You will join me for dinner this evening, and then I will send you on your way once I see if you are mended sufficiently. That is not a request," he growled and proceeded to storm from the room so he could leave her and go somewhere alone to think.

"Dinner...with you? Here? Tonight?" she asked over his retreating form, but Voldemort did not answer. He couldn't let her get too comfortable.

 **(Bellatrix)**

She was going to have dinner with the Dark Lord. Dinner. With the Dark Lord. Just the two of them. Tonight. About half of her felt like she'd waited her whole life for this and having to wait a moment longer for it was pure torture, while the other half of her felt like there would never be enough time in the universe to get ready. Most unfortunately, she was in a place she did not know in a dress that she hated, and was hideously bruised and bloody from her confrontation with the Aurors at that stupid wedding because of her disastrous idea...well, she couldn't really think it disastrous, could she? Not when it'd led to dinner with the Dark Lord in his private home. Still...she couldn't help wish she looked a little better. Whenever she'd played out this idea, once a distant fancy, in her mind, she wasn't dressed up like Andromeda Tonks.

" _Not happy with what you're wearing, are you, my dear?"_ A voice croaked.

"What the…"

" _Turn around, thick-head...nobody pays attention to a talking wardrobe these days...come closer so I can see you better…"_ Bellatrix was startled to find the wheezy voice was indeed coming from an old wardrobe hidden so far in the furthest corner of the cave room she hadn't even noticed it before.

" _Ah yes...I know who you are...Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Black...Slytherin House, wand is 12 and ¾ inches, walnut and dragon heartstring, unyielding. Patronus takes the form of a Snow Leopard..._

The wardrobe reminded her suspiciously of something. Well...someone...kind of. "Are you...err...do you know the Sorting Hat by any chance?"

" _Yes...the Hat is my brother. Everyone knows him, see...but ever since Salazar Slytherin deemed me rather useless and shut me up in here, it's been most irksome knowing how famous he's become…Everyone knows the Sorting Hat, but nobody knows the Artistic Armoire!"_

"Excuse me?"

"Yes...very stubborn. Quite egocentric, too...ambitious...and powerful, or at least she thinks she is...yes...yes, I know just what to do with you!" Bellatrix shrieked as the Andromeda dress fell to her ankles and was replaced by one of the most elegant red dresses she had ever seen. It was cinched at the waist and formed perfectly to the shape of the corset she always wore around her midsection. The red of it wasn't really red so much as it was the color of an aged Pinot Noir, and the incredibly low cut chest was sheathed in black eyelet lace.

" _And you'll need shoes I expect?"_ The Armoire croaked and just as suddenly as before, Bellatrix's lacy beige flats were replaced by a pair of red pumps to match her dress that were studded on the heels with tiny black spikes.

" _Can't do much for that hair, I'm afraid...a bottle of Slekeazy's would do you a world of good…"_

"Oh shut up, will you!" Bellatrix shouted. She held a personal vendetta against Slekeazy's because it would not do her a world of good, nor did she find amusing any assumption that she didn't prefer her hair just the way it was naturally.

" _How ungrateful..ah well, nothing has changed in the thousand years since Slytherin brought me here...no one appreciates the ever-varied creative talents of the Artistic Armoire…"_ Thankfully, the Armoire's complaining was drowned out by the sound of footsteps echoing across stone.

"Hmm.. Impressive. Ready for dinner, I take it?" Bellatrix blushed when she heard the Dark Lord stride through the room, but she was a little grateful for the Armoire after all, since she didn't have to go to dinner with him looking like her blood traitor sister. He gestured for her to follow him out of the room and when he'd turned back around and she was sure he wasn't looking, she pointed her wand to her messy mane of hair and whispered " _Capillum perfectus,"_ to not much noticeable effect.

"The small dining room, I think" said the Dark Lord and Bellatrix followed him through a network of tunnels and up a flight of sleek stone steps until they reached a small wooden door, that once opened, revealed itself to be a shelf that slid out of the way so they could enter into a room that was so dimly lit she could barely make it out. The walls were painted a sleek black, save for one which was an off white toffee color and bore a crackling fire place and several embossed paintings of crows bewitched to fly over the mantle and caw loudly every several minutes. A dark wood table set for two with champagne-colored cutlery was lit only by a single black candelabra and it appeared to be floating over a floor made of smoke hiding some invisible netherworld. Bellatrix was hesitant to step across (was it a trap? would she fall, screaming into the depths of this eerie room while he stood above and laughed at her naivete and blind trust?)

Seeming to sense her insecurity, the Dark Lord strode forward, past her, lightly brushing against her arm as he did so. Bellatrix shivered. The clicking of his shoes against hardwood told her that the floor was at least probably solid and she hurried after him, though she remained near the threshold of the door, still uncertain. She watched curiously as the Dark Lord sat down at the Head of the little table and began folding a gold cloth napkin in his lap.

"You may sit down, Bella." Bellatrix did as she was told, sitting across from him and folding her own napkin, fumbling with the corners and feeling like a house elf who'd just been told she could sit down at a wizard's table and have dinner with the family she served. If the Dark Lord noticed how nervous she was, he didn't comment. Instead, he waved a hand and several black half-taper candles scattered across the tables began to light themselves one by one. Then, he snapped his fingers and the first course of their meal appeared on their small plates-small ceramic bowls of warm bat's blood soup and triangles of toast to dip into it.

"What will you have to drink?" The Dark Lord asked her as his own goblet began to fill itself with a dark mead.

"Do you have Fire Cinnamon Whisky?" she asked and he gave her a look that read quite plainly: _Of course I have Fire Cinnamon Whisky-I'm the Dark Lord, I have everything._

As he flicked his wand towards her glass to fill it, she found herself awkwardly asking "How are you doing this? Don't you know food is one of the only known exceptions to the laws of elemental transfiguration?" She wanted to bury her face in her hands as she flushed with embarrassment. Didn't she have -anything- better to say?

"Very good Bella, I see you paid attention when you took Transfiguration class," the Dark Lord replied with a smirk, but he did not answer her question. Bellatrix blushed further and dipped a piece of toast into the bubbling red soup in front of her, hoping she'd eat it and be too distracted with chewing to say anything else strange.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you to dine with me...I would like to extend my gratitide for your efforts at saving my life."

"But I am in your debt, my Lord. You have saved me many more times than I have saved you."

"I would argue that you have not saved me even one time, Bella, as I was never in any real danger," said the Dark Lord and Bellatrix felt her cheeks flush again, not in embarrassment this time, but in anger. How _dare_ he?

 **(Voldemort)**

"Have you just brought me here to mock me and make me feel bad about myself?" Bellatrix looked to be on the verge of tears. Voldemort needed to avert them. As he himself had never cried, the tears of others made him uncomfortable. He'd tried to understand them-researched them in a series of books, both Muggle and Magic, to no avail. Crying, he'd found, was associated with the same strong internal emotions he'd always lacked. Sadness. Excitement. Grief. Passion. Even the act of laughing could produce tears...but Voldemort had never laughed. Not really. Sure, he'd cackled at the expense of his Death Eaters. He'd imitated the sound of laughter to intimidate, torture, mock...but he'd never laughed naturally because he truly found something funny. He'd always thought himself to be incapable of emotion because he'd been conceived under a love potion...at least, that was what he'd always been told. And he'd believed them because he didn't know any better. But the swamp witch was right: _Wasn't there a time...If only briefly, when you believed yourself unable to conquer Death? How is Love any different?_ Or any emotion, really. He could feel anger, couldn't he? Rage. Even...disappointment. Or at least, he thought he could. And what about that strange feeling when he thought Bellatrix was dead? It was like he was suddenly missing some of his internal organs...a hollow emptiness that at the same time wasn't as hollow as it should have been. If only he had someone who could really _feel_ things...and feel them so strongly and intensely that others perceived them to be mad. But this person could tell him, show him, even what it was like to experience these sensations and help him give name to them. What he needed was...it almost pained him to admit it to himself...a teacher.

"No. I am not trying to mock you -or-make you feel bad about yourself. In fact I have been doing some thinking and you have indeed proven yourself to be my most loyal and faithful Death Eater, if not, even, my favorite Death Eater," he said quietly.

It stunned him how, without having any of his own personal experience with emotions, he was able to tell how she was feeling. He could see it in her body and face, hear it in her voice and her sharp intakes and releases of breath. When she used the Cruciatus Curse, he could feel her amusement through the vibrations of her laughter. When she was upset, he knew before she'd even shed a tear because of the subtle ways her shoulders started to shake back and forth. He knew that Severus Snape's presence made her angry because of the way she snapped at him without making full eye contact. .And just now, when he'd called her his favorite Death Eater, he suspected she felt _joyful_ (the word sounded almost as strange in his mind as _love_ ) because her initial shock (wide eyes, her characteristic intake and slow release of breath) melted into a certain softness he rarely saw about her. Her full lips, absent of their usual red lipstick, curved into what he knew from a lifetime of research to be a smile.

"Thank you, My Lord. What that means to me, coming from you, you know not."

"When was the first time you cried, Bellatrix?" he asked her rather abruptly.

"Wh...what?" She blinked a few times, more rapidly than normal and her smile twisted not into a frown, but into a flat line. She was confused. His question had surprised her, but not in the way she'd liked before.

"It's alright. I'm not trying to humilate you. I am merely curious about something. When was the first time you remember crying-not as a baby-but over an emotional experience?"

"Well..I expect it was.." She was hesitant. That was bad. It meant she might try to lie or omit details because she was embarrassed.

"Show me," he commanded.

"Show you?"

"Yes. The memory. Show me. No..No...don't extract it. Open your mind to me." Bellatrix knew he was an experienced Legilimens, perhaps better than any wizard in the world that he knew of, and it was for this reason that he figured she'd grown to always have a shield up around him. She was afraid of him invading her thoughts...and he'd always wondered why. She called herself his most loyal, but then what did she have to hide from him? He'd never had time or desire to question her loyalty or put the effort into finding out because she'd always done anything he'd asked of her...but he couldn't pretend he wasn't curious. He watched her shift uncomfortably and draw inward, behind her thick mane of hair.

"Relax, Bella. There's nothing to be afraid of." He flicked his wand in the direction of her empty goblet and refilled her Cinnamon Firewhisky. "Would it help you if I were closer to you?"

"C...closer...to...me?" Taking her answer for a yes, Voldemort drew himself up from his seat and strode over to her, positioning himself behind her, near enough for some imagined closeness, but far enough away that they weren't actually touching. Another sharp intake of breath from her.

"Breathe, Bellatrix." He brushed the hair off her bare shoulders and laid his hands on them, feeling their warmth. " _Breathe_ ," he whispered as he began to massage her shoulders with just the tips of his fingers. She was shaking. He could barely feel it, but he knew it was there. She sighed deeply, and he looked into her mind.

 _***A little girl of no more than four or five years old was sitting on a stool at a tall wooden countertop in someone's kitchen. Her long black hair was matted and twisted into a messy bun on top of her head and she was wearing an oversized t-shirt that fell to her knobby and bruised childlike knees. Next to her, sat a boy close to her in age with the same messy black hair, though his was significantly shorter. The two of them were playing with Quidditch figurines._

" _And….Chaser Sirius Black scores again! Too bad the keeper wasn't looking!"_

" _No fair Sirius! No fair! I'm not even playing Keeper!" the girl protested. She shoved the boy, but he was looking at something else._

" _Come on Bella, we can finish the match later. Kreacher's brought breakfast!" A house elf with gnarled hands served the children pancakes on a gold platter and they gobbled down their food quickly and with a lot of syrup._

 _Then there was a loud knocking sound and the echoes of screams and fighting._

" _BELLATRIX BLACK!" Then it was a blur._

" _But...but...Aunt Walburga...can't...can't...can't...I stay here with you and Cousin Sirius?" The girl was sobbing and clinging to the arms of a short and stout woman of the family's characteristic paleness, auburn hair and a plain face who stood in contrast to the taller, younger and very well-dressed woman attempting to pry the child away._

" _Bellatrix! You are MY daughter, not Walburga's and you were A DAMN FOOL to run away like you did and you thought you'd just be able to stay here, did you?_

Bellatrix was taking a number of short, shallow breaths in rapid succession like she'd just run a very long way. She was waiting, he knew, for his judgment. But he found he had none to render…

"What happened?"

"I ran away from my mother and tried to live with my Aunt and Sirius-but I didn't know he'd be a blood traitor then, I swear he was alright then and I was just a child-anyway, I begged my aunt to keep me, but she let my mother take me back. My mother slapped me across the face and said she wished I was a good girl like my little sister Andromeda and then later she bought me a new broomstick, the best model out, wanting me to forget the whole thing and just 'act right.'" Bellatrix put the last part in air quotes. Still, Voldemort really had no opinion.

"I was always the bad girl...but now it's a good thing, isn't it? You like that I'm bad like you," she whispered. Still waiting for him to say anything..but he didn't want to. Not yet. He had too many thoughts to sort through first.

" _My Lorrrrd…."_ Voldemort turned around in time to see his great snake Nagini slither the rest of the way into the small dining room.

"Yes, Nagini?" he hissed in Parseltongue, knowing Nagini could understand and Bellatrix couldn't.

" _You have commmmpany in the East Wing, my Lorddd...the one you call Wormtail…"_

Bellatrix crossed her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. He knew she was displeased when she wasn't included.

"I must go attend to something. Feel free to wait here of go, it's your choice. Explore if you'd like, though at your own risk, and take heed to avoid the West Wing lest you suffer my...displeasure."

 **(Bellatrix)**

" _Dinner date not going well, is it?"_ said a haughty female voice not unlike a cooler, more sinister sounding Artistic Armoire.

"Oh be quiet!" Bellatrix spat. "I'm not talking to any more inanimate objects tonight. It's making me feel like I'm going crazy!"

" _Oh I'm sure you're very crazy, but crazy isn't a bad thing, is it, my dear?"_

"Are you...related to the others? The Sorting Hat and that closet, I mean?" Bellatrix craned her neck and looked around, struggling to find the source of the cool female voice.

" _Maybe. Maybe not. I like to think I was different because I was Salazar Slytherin's favorite…"_

"Where the hell are you?" It whistled and she found it in...a mirror? Hanging across the room, rimmed in silver, and coated in a thick layer of dust from neglect and disuse.

" _He never talks to me…"_ it moaned, though it didn't seem to have a mouth-or eyes-anywhere that Bellatrix could see.

"Who? The Dark Lord? Well I expect he's got better things to be getting on with than talking to a dusty old mirror…"

" _Does he? And I assume you think you're so wonderful and beautiful...but you're getting -old-, aren't you? You can't keep secrets from the Malleable Mirror...you've wanted to be with the Dark Lord since you were a girl...a bit sad, really…but I've got something to show you that might be worth your while..."_

"Be quiet or I'll smash you to pieces," Bellatrix said resolutely, refusing to look at the mirror.

" _Come on darling, one little peek, is all it'll take-where's your sense of adventure?"_

"I really shouldn't...the Dark Lord will be right back-he just…"

" _Stepped out? Well this is only the beginning. I can show you all you need to know about him...come on, just through the door now...that's a good darling…"_ Door? Bellatrix risked a furtive glance and sure enough, where the dirty glass had once reflected the dining room, it now showed the image of a small door. Bellatrix approached the mirror and, albeit reluctantly, stepped through the glass.

She popped out in another part of the Manor, in pitch darkness, entirely unsure of where she was.

"Come on, no more talking furniture come to drive me mad?" she hissed into the silence. Nothing answered. " _Lumos_ ," Bellatrix murmured and a flare of yellow light sparked at the end of her wand, which she held close to her as she couldn't imagine what tricks and horrors lurked in this house. Salazar Slytherin had once created a secret chamber guarded by a giant snake in a _school_ to prey on children and it had gone undetected for over a thousand years...who could tell what measures he'd put in place to protect his home...and the thrill of it excited Bellatrix greatly.

"Come on now, come out and play with Bella...I'm not afraid of you!" she taunted in a mock childlike voice. After the disaster at the wedding, she was thirsting for a good fight. She could feel it. And then she heard whispers. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, it was all mostly unintelligible and garbled, but she slunk against the wall between two empty torch brackets anyway.

" _Nox."_ She extinguished the light from her wand and waited for whatever was whispering to round the corner…

" _Sshhsppshhhswishshhhhhhh…"_ Something was coming. Something eerily...bright? She perched there in her red pointed heels, holding out her wand at the ready.

" _Sshhsppshhhswishshhhhhhh…"_ The whispering grew louder and as it rounded the corner and began to make its way down the hall, Bellatrix was surprised to see not a ghost or a poltergeist or a banshee...but a round ball of bright, transparent blue light no bigger than a Christmas bauble.

" _Sshhsppshhhswishshhhhhhh…"_ It drifted nearer to her very slowly and in a rather non-threatening way, but she couldn't let down her guard. After all, the Dark Lord wasn't one of quick pace, either.

" _Stupefy!_ " The ball of light didn't change. " _Deletrius!"_ Again, the ball of light continued moving towards her down the hall at its same slow, transfixing pace. It looked like blue bell flames incased in a crystal orb and was really...quite beautiful. " _Evan..Evan..Evanesco…"_ She couldn't take her eyes off of it and for a brief instant, she thought of the basilisk of the chamber of secrets and worried about looking at it too long-but then she reasoned that if this ball of light were anything like the basilisk, she would already be dead. _Maybe it knows I'm a pure blood and a Slytherin...maybe that's why it's not doing any harm…_

"" _Sshhsppshhhswishshhhhhhh…Sshhsppshhhswishshhhhhhh…"_

"I really can't understand you." Maybe it was speaking in Parseltongue...that would make sense...then only the Dark Lord would be able to understand and control it. It was close enough now that she could reach out and touch it if she wanted to, but she held back, thinking of the equally beautiful silver and opal necklace she'd once seen at Borgin and Burkes that was cursed such that any physical contact with it could potentially be fatal...not unlike the Dark Lord, himself. She pressed herself as far back against the wall as she could go, but the ball of blue light or flames or whatever it was seemed entirely uninterested in her (also not unlike the Dark Lord) and passed her right by, in its continued slow motion floating down the hallway.

"Do you...Do you want me to follow you?" She called after it uncertainly, feeling instantly foolish. She was talking to an inanimate ball of light. Of course it didn't want her to follow it. It couldn't.

" _Sshhhhhhhhhhspppppppppppppp"_ The ball stopped moving and hung frozen in the air for a moment, its whisper this time sounding more like a long, drawn-out hiss. Had it just...answered her? Sighing loudly at her own stupidity, but feeling curious nonetheless, Bellatrix began following the orb of light down the hall and it started moving again once she'd caught up. She followed it down a hall that twisted and curved extensively as if she were back in the underground portion of the Manor, and around every turn she expected to encounter some beast or hex, but all remained silent save for the whispering of the blue light and all remained dark save for its soft translucent light that served as her guide.

Finally, just as Bellatrix was starting to think that the Dark Lord had to have noticed she was missing by now, the ball of light came to a stop outside a rather plain-looking door. As she approached the door, the ball of light shifted to the side to let her pass. Bellatrix pointed her wand at the door, ready to try every charm she knew to try and get it open and expecting all of them to fail, but surprisingly, the door opened before she could say or try anything...like it was _waiting_ for her. She hesitated at the threshold, thinking of every possible horrible thing that could happen if she entered this room...but then the same thought kept coming back to her. _I'm a Slytherin...a pureblood...from a sacred family...I'm the Dark Lord's favorite...it knows...it's telling me it's okay…_

" _Lumos."_ The gold light at the end of her wand illuminated a normal enough looking room that mirrored the color scheme of the rest of the Manor-the floor, a shiny obsidian tile; the walls, papered in a bitter sage green with a dark wood paneling baseboard. The furniture was normal enough, too, though all she could see from her vantage point was a large bookcase containing every number of Dark artifacts, skulls polished to the whitest white; books bound in aged leather in a variety of muted colors and emitting a few very quiet, guttural growls every couple of seconds; even a tiny row of what looked like a full set of human teeth separated from their jaw bone and laid out as a collection.

As Bellatrix examined her surroundings looking for anything exciting, she felt a sudden rush of cold air as the blue ball of light drifted past her and redirected its path towards the furthest corner of the room, where a glass case that was rounded at the top sat on top of a spindly table that looked like it couldn't support the weight of the glass for very much longer. Then, the light entered the glass case, filling it with a silvery blue smoke not unlike that of a Patronus, though it soon faded to lilac, darkened to violet and purple after that, then reddened to pink, fuschia, magenta, which it seemed to settle on. The smoke cleared, though the pinkish-purple haze remained, trapped in the glass and shrouding the most beautiful rose Bellatrix had ever seen, waiting for her there beneath the glass case that confined it. She found herself moving numbly towards it, feeling certain now that the rose must have been what the little ball of light had indeed wanted to show her and feeling a rush of envy for whomever had given it to the Dark Lord...or whoever the Dark Lord intended to gift it to. Maybe...no. She couldn't let herself get her hopes up like that...thinking such things could be dangerous...could get her killed, even...but still it lingered, a girlish voice in the back of her mind: _Maybe he intends to give it to you...You are after all, his most loyal, his most faithful, even (he told you himself) his favorite servant...You are a beautiful woman who deserves beautiful things…_

She found herself drawing closer to the rose as she examined it. Red and glittering, with snow frosted tips and very green thorns, she would have thought it the strongest and healthiest of its kind she'd ever seen, and yet there were quite a few of the rose's petals scattered, shriveled and dead, at the bottom of the case. Maybe the rose was sick and that was why it was sealed in the case? But even if he wanted to give it to...someone...couldn't he, with all his power, mend the rose? Or even, find a better and healthier one wherever he'd come upon this first one?

"Didn't I tell you...very clearly I might add, that you could conceal yourself - _anywhere-_ in my Manor save for the West Wing?"

Bellatrix froze. Well, not literally. But she did find herself quite unwilling to turn around and face him. She was cursing herself inside, cursing the bitch mirror, the blue light, the door, all of it.. _of course._ It should have been obvious everything was trying to lead her to the West Wing...the one place she was not allowed to go.

"Why then," the Dark Lord continued in an uncomfortably even, quiet voice. "Why then...should I come to find you in the one location I told you very distinctly, _not_ to go?" She knew she should be apologizing...knew she should be on her knees in tears and kissing the hem of his robes if she was going to have any hope of sparing her life, but something instinctive seemed to be trying to convince her that if she remained where she was and stayed as still as possible, he might forget he saw her there at all.

"TURN AROUND!" he bellowed and Bellatrix felt a sudden jolt of pain as the Dark Lord hexed her to turn around quite against her will.

"How _dare_ you defy me so blatantly…"

"My Lord…"

"Remove yourself from my prescence. And do not ever let me find you anywhere in my home again."

"My Lord…"

"Get out. _Now."_

 **A/N: Sooo what did you think? Do you like the idea of Bellatrix being Voldemort's 'teacher'? Do you think they have chemistry together? Will he be able to get over his own ego enough to trust her/let her in? Maybe he needs another quick visit to Madam Rhiannon and Misty Day :P**


	7. Chapter 7: Has Anyone Written Anything

**Chapter 7: Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You?**

 **A/N: Yay! More reviews! To celebrate, here's Chapter 7 and I also have Chapter 8 almost done to be posted by the end of today. My goal is to finish the story within the week :) Let me know what you think!**

 **~Sun Dance~**

**(Voldemort)** The rest of August passed in a haze of violent heat and Voldemort's own confused thoughts regarding Bellatrix that fluctuated between anger, fondness and admiration, though always converging back into a frustration that resulted in him ignoring her whenever possible. September began and Harry Potter, according to his Death Eaters, showed no sign of returning to Hogwarts on September 1st despite their long wait outside the house he'd inherited from the Black family. Severus had taken up his new post as Headmaster at the school and muggle-borns were not permitted within the castle walls, this new regime aided by the Carrows, two brother and sister Death Eaters who'd proven themselves loyal enough to do this particular job, but too dimwitted to ever be useful in battle. Voldemort couldn't spend much of his own time focusing on the goings on up at the school, however. For the past couple of months, his thoughts had been occupied by only three things: Sybil Trelawney's prophecies, the Elder Wand, and Bellatrix-her role in it all, her sad eyes when he cast her out of Slytherin's Manor, the way her shoulders shook when he touched her...but he hadn't so much as looked at her in over a month. When she came for Death Eater meetings, he continued to sit her as far away from him as possible, down the end of the table between her sister and Lucius. Thankfully, she'd had enough sense (or fear) not to try to approach him. He apparated away as soon as the meetings ended and if she was asking after him, news of it did not reach him. The prophecy couldn't be about Bellatrix. Madam Rhiannon had told him he needed to find someone who'd die for him, die to save him, but when Bellatrix had supposedly "saved him" he hadn't been in any real danger. Even if he'd been hit by the Auror's curse, he had his horcruxes, so he would have survived even if only just. _But Bellatrix didn't know that..._ and nor did Madam Rhiannon... _or did she?_...Was something going to happen to the horcruxes that would even the playing field so that only love magic would determine who would win the war? No...all his horcruxes were safe. They had to be. Still...Madam Rhiannon had said specifically that he needed to find the one who would die for him...and Bellatrix hadn't been in _real_ danger of dying at all yet...although whose fault was that? His own, he reminded himself. The prophecy said he had to love and be loved in return...well, Bellatrix might have lusted after him for a long time, she couldn't love him. First of all, he was too old for her. Second of all, he was a formidable Dark Lord. Third of all, he didn't have a nose. Not the type a woman like Bellatrix would ever _really_ fall for unless she was trying for fame or fortune, both of which she already had. Yes, he'd settled himself on the fact that the lover in the prophecy simply could not be Bellatrix, which meant he needed to figure out who it did mean at once. Meanwhile, Bellatrix would be much better served falling for someone, anyone, else. Mulciber. Avery. Dolohov...even Travers or Severus. Wouldn't Severus be a good fit for someone like Bellatrix...He imagined the two of them holing up together somewhere to talk and cry about unrequited sexual desires over too-sweet drinks and he shuddered at the thought. As if on cue, Voldemort heard a knock on the door of the temporary study he used whenever he was at Malfoy Manor, a much easier location for the current visitor to provide him weekly updates on things at Hogwarts and any sign of Harry Potter and company. "In," Voldemort growled. The door clicked open and in strode Severus Snape with Nagini slithering in imperiusly behind him. "Well? News?" "None of note to report, my Lord. The Longbottom boy tried to curse one of the Carrows again, but the incident was handled immediately." "And when they handled it, did they recall my order not to spill pure wizard blood?" "Yes, My Lord." Voldemort tried to focus his thoughts on what Severus was saying...Hogwarts...the War...but what would any of that matter if he was defeated in May? "Severus, I'd like for you talk to me about Lily Evans," he said. "Is this a joke, my Lord?" Voldemort didn't think the question deserved to be entertained with an answer. "I want to know how you were so certain you loved Lily Evans,"he said firmly to show Snape that the matter was not to be avoided. Severus's face paled even more than it usually was. "Are you thinking about the prophecy, My Lord?" "It's difficult to think of anything else. The petals of that old witch's rose are falling quickly, far more quickly than I'd imagined. I doubt it'll even last til May." It was the truth he spoke. Even since the night Bellatrix had found the rose tucked away in his study in the West Wing of his mansion, three more of its petals had fallen. "And you're even sure you need to take a lover by then?" "It's about all I'm sure of right now," Voldemort replied. He rarely showed such uncertainty openly to a Death Eater, but right now he thought Severus Snape to be the only person able to help him. "I spent the afternoon revisiting a particular memory in my Pensieve. I believe you will not need to see its contents to remember the night I'm speaking of." "The night I begged you not to take her life…" He could see Snape was struggling with intense feelings of hatred and loathing for him at the moment. But the night Voldemort killed Lily Evans was one of the only nights he'd shown any compassion that he could recall. He'd given her a chance...asked...nearly begged...for her to step aside so that he could keep his shaky promise to the Death Eater he owed so much already for handing over Trelawney's first prophecy. "She made me feel alive inside," Snape said quietly. "Like anything that could ever be wrong was made right by my merely being near her…" Voldemort certainly did not feel that way around Bellatrix, in fact, it was quite the opposite. He generally found himself concerned about how harmful to their cause her next insane idea was bound to be. In fact, it was the youngest Black sister whose presence ever made him feel even remotely close to assured, if he felt anything at all...could the prophecy be about Narcissa Malfoy? "What else? How else did you know? Was it a sudden realization or more gradual?" "It's not something you can know, my Lord. It's felt with the heart."

 **-**

For the second time in his life, Voldemort apparated to a swampy hollow not far from the deceiving raised shack inhabited by an old witch named Rhiannon and her apprentice witch, Misty Day, again, for answers. He understood the prophecy. He understood what he had to do, but he just didn't know how it was possible. All those things Snape had told him happened when one loved someone else...he hadn't felt any of that. He hadn't really felt anything but anger and an absence of anger in all that he could remember of his existence, even before he was reborn in his current form in the graveyard. He flatly refused to allow her to pacify him with children's stories this time...no, she was going to give him answers or he would punish her like he'd punish anyone who proved useless to him.

 **-**

"Oh, it's you. I'll get Madam won't have to wait long this time...she's especially interested in _you_." Misty Day opened the door the rest of the way and let Voldemort into the same waiting area he'd sat in before and this time, he asked for nothing to drink when he sat down in one of the squashy purple chairs beneath the spiral-topped tent in the center of the room. He wanted to be as alert as he could be. The ceiling that had been bewitched to look like the galaxy the last time he'd visited, showed today, a largely magnified sun that revealed every burning crater, the holes in the smoky red surface. Not long after Misty had disappeared behind the beaded curtain that led to the Madam's study, she reappeared with the older witch at her heels. Voldemort made to get up, but she waved him down. "No, you stay where you are. I'm not expecting anyone else tonight. We can talk out here." Voldemort wondered if Madam Rhiannon preferred to keep their conversation out here in the open this time due to the multiple threats on her life he'd made during his first consultation with her. Or perhaps she just didn't intend to keep him for as long, which he was certainly alright with. Either way, Rhiannon sat down across from him in a gold-backed purple chair and after opening one of the drawers in the coffee table between them, withdrew a few cones of dusty pink incense. She lit these in the stone burner he remembered from before and took a deep breath in of the spicy scent before turning her eyes upward onto Voldemort. Misty Day stood a little ways off and looked unsure of whether or not she should leave the room, but Rhiannon noticed this, too. "Go and get me a love potion, brewed fresh in the normal way, will you please Misty?" she said and Voldemort made a mental note not to drink anything either of them offered him ever again, though he made no sign to either witch that he suspected anything of them. "This prophecy is really throwing you for it, isn't it, Tom?" The older witch smirked behind a sheet of silver and blonde hair casting shadows on the only side of her face that he could see. "Don't you call me by my filthy Muggle father's name again!" "Oh that's right, it's some _Lord_ thing isn't it?" **  
**

"Voldemort. Or better yet, don't call me anything at all." "No...I'll call you Voldemort. I like it. Anyway, Voldemort...I think I know your trouble. You mentioned something last time...you said it was my fault you couldn't feel love-you think that the love potion made here that your mother used to seduce your father has prevented you from experiencing a tender emotion like love," she said rather dryly. "I'm certain of it." "I'm not. And besides...Love doesn't have to be tender, Voldemort. Once you accept that, everything will start to come more easily for you." He frowned. This was a very different Rhiannon than he'd encountered on his last visit. That one was lighter, warmer...she told stories, demonstrated her power. This one was talking like her mind was somewhere else. "What do you think you're doing?" He snapped. She'd started rifling through the coffee table drawer again. "I need you to do something if we're going to confirm what I've been thinking given your...background..but to do it, you will need to trust that I have no reason to harm you and that since I charge by the hour, I wouldn't _want_ to harm you...If you want me to help you, you need to drink this." She pulled from the drawer's death a very tiny bottle no larger than her smallest finger, clear with a crystal stopper and containing a liquid the consistency of gel that was very violently blue and not quite transparent, but not quite opaque, either. His first inclination was not to touch the stuff. His second inclination, was what was the worst that could happen? His hesitation did not go unnoticed by Rhiannon, who pulled the crystal stopper out of the bottle and pushed it further in his direction. "Do you want answers or not?" He didn't answer, so she smiled. "Then drink it. All of it at once." Sighing and not quite knowing what had come over him, Voldemort took the little bottle and downed it in one swallow. He instantly regretted his decision...his entire body was convulsing...there was pain...shaking...pain searing like a thousand knives cutting into his body at once-like the cruciatus curse in juice form and then he saw himself as a child…

 _*_ _ **Memory #1:**_ _Voldemort is six years old. The matron of the orphanage is pacing up and down among the children getting them ready. A young couple is coming today looking to adopt a son. He doesn't know anything about them, yet he's been thinking of nothing but them for two days now. What would they look like? What kind of son did they want? Did they want a son that he could be? He was up all night looking out the window every time he heard voices or a car in the street-what if they arrived in the night? He would be the only boy awake to greet them. When they didn't arrive in the night, Voldemort tried to sleep, afraid of having dark circles under his eyes and looking too ugly to be their son. Now the day is here and Voldemort is running after the children lining up to head out of the Boys' Dormitory and down to the Atrium where the young couple are waiting to meet them. His messy black hair is combed down flat with water and his dark eyes are shining. He's wondering whether or not he should smile or look serious when he meets his potential family. He gets in line behind Georgie, but the matron descends upon him, grabs him roughly by the shoulders and forces him out of line._ _-"Who would want you, Tom? You're too old."_ _Voldemort is six years old._ _-"But Georgie's already seven! Please!"_ _-"Ask me again and it'll be the belt."_ _Voldemort is six years old._

 _ ***Memory #2**_ _Voldemort is eight years old. He stops getting excited when new families come. He stops smiling. He stops being happy for the other children when they get to leave, because he knows he's going to be here until he's eighteen-"then we'll finally be rid of you-" the matrons remind him every chance they get. They call him the Devil's spawn...but he doesn't even know what it means._ _Miss Caroline isn't so bad, he reasons. She's the oldest matron in the orphanage and she walks with a cane, but she has never hit any of the children with it...not like the other matrons who hit with anything they can find. Miss Caroline sneaks them sweets. She's the only matron who tells Voldemort he might get adopted some day, even if he can tell by her voice that she doesn't really mean it._ _-"Miss Caroline, I was wondering if you could tell me about...the Devil…"_ _-"Why do you want to know about something as evil as that, Tom?"_ _-"Because everybody 'cept you calls me Devil's spawn. Why does everybody think that about me?"_ _-"Because you killed your mother."_ _-"I didn't kill my mother. I didn't kill anybody."_ _-"She died on the steps of this orphanage while you were spilling out of her all covered in her blood. You cut yourself out of her and you didn't even cry. That's a sign of evil you know...a baby that can't cry."_ _-"It's not fair. I was a baby!"_ _-"Then why do bad things always seem to happen around you? Impossible things…"_ _Voldemort is angry. Miss Caroline is supposed to be the nice one. The one who doesn't think he's horrible._ _-"I HATE IT HERE! I HATE ALL OF YOU! I WANT TO RUN AWAY ANYWHERE BUT HERE!"_ _*SMACK*_ _Miss Caroline's cane makes contact and he feels his nose break for the first time._ _Voldemort is eight years old._

 _*_ _ **Memory #3**_ _Voldemort is eleven years old. He has his first visitor, an older man dressed in the weirdest clothes he has ever seen. He is wearing a suit, but it is purple as an eggplant from his bow tie to his the hem of his slacks._ _This man tells him that there's a reason he's different. There's a reason "bad things, impossible things" always seem to happen when he's angry. This man tells him there's a place for people like him and that his name has been down to go there since he was born. And then Voldemort realizes that this man is probably here to take him to the asylum, where the matrons always tell him he'll end up when he ages out of the orphanage. Only here he is come early, and Voldemort is scared so bad things start to happen like they always do._ _Voldemort is eleven years old and he can't remember the last time he wasn't angry or scared. But this place...wherever he's going...has to be better than here. The man tells him this new place will be his home, but even he doesn't like Voldemort. Doesn't trust him. No one ever has._ _Voldemort is eleven years old._ **  
**

_*_ _ **Memory #4**_ _Voldemort is fifteen years old. He stares down at the body of his father. He has never killed anybody before. He was the boy who never killed anybody...until today. His father is dead because Voldemort killed him._ _He gave him a chance. He asked what he'd been burning to his whole life-why did you have to hurt my mother? Why didn't you want me? But the man had laughed. Laughed at Voldemort. And now he is dead. He'd always made bad things happen to people who tried to hurt him. Whose laughing now?_ _Maybe all Muggles really are the same._ _Maybe Voldemort would have been better off dead on the concrete steps with his mother all those years ago. She was a witch, but she died to get away from him. This man couldn't even be that noble. He was like the orphanage matrons, afraid of everything they didn't understand._ _Yes, all Muggles really are the same._ _Voldemort is fifteen years old._ **  
**

_***Memory #5**_ _Voldemort is sixteen years old. He has learned how to be charming by now. He knows he can get whatever he wants from those weaker than he is. They pretend to like him, but he knows they're just afraid._ _Professor Slughorn is afraid of him. He tells Voldemort he's the smartest, most talented student he has ever taught, but Voldemort knows he is afraid. They're all afraid...or, they will be._ _-"Professor, I was in the library the other night...in the restricted section, and I came across something rather odd about a bit of rare magic...it's called...as I understand it...a Horcrux."_ _Slughorn is standing by the fire and as his grin fades, he looks like he's about to drop his drink._ _-"I'm not sure what you were reading, Tom...but this is very dark stuff. Very dark indeed."_ _-"Which is...why I came to you."_ _-"A Horcrux is an object in which a person has concealed a piece of their soul...one splits one soul and hides it in an object to be protected if their body is destroyed...In other words, you can never die."_

 ***** _ **Memory #6**_ _Voldemort is 22 years old. He is 22 years old and being yelled at by a teenager. The fifteen year old Slytherin girl's is skinny, with matted black hair trailing down her back._ _-"But why can't I join up with you? I'm just as able any-I've got the best marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts in my year!"_ _-"There's much more to real battle than anything you'd learn in class."_ _-"But you could teach me!"_ _-"And you think I have the time? I need Death Eaters who are already smart enough on their own."_ _-"And you think everyone you've got following you is -smart enough- on their own. Please. Rodolphus Lestrange? Really?"_ _-"Rodolphus Lestrange is of age."_ _-"And I'll be seventeen in two years. C'mon, how useful will it be for you to have someone at Hogwarts recruiting for you?"_ _-"There aren't many -female- Death Eaters...perhaps for good reason…Although I expect we could find -something- for you to do...if you really must help..."_ _-"Oh, don't give me that 'you're a girl' bullshit. I want to fight. I may be young, but I want to be near you. Fighting for you. With you. I'll prove to you that I'll be the strongest and most loyal Death Eater you'll ever have."_ _So that's how Voldemort, creator of five Horcruxes by now, and though young, already the most formidable Dark wizard of all time, finds himself tattooing his Dark Mark on fifteen-year-old Bellatrix Black's left forearm in Abraxas Malfoy's drawing room. He risks a look at her as he moves the needle directly over the bone, but she doesn't flinch-just keeps on biting her lower lip through the pain._

 _ ***Memory #7**_ _Voldemort is 43 years old. Tonight, he has a body of his very own again for the first time in thirteen years. Reborn from the venom of the snakes he's always felt inside him. Reborn in a graveyard without a nose and as far as he knows, not a heart, either. Not a normal one anyway._ _Nobody can break what you don't have. Nobody can laugh at your scars if you don't have them anymore. Now he will go to Azkaban. He will free his most loyal...if she remains so, after all this time._ _-"Always" says Bellatrix._ _He hates being around the Dementors. He doesn't feel right inside when he's around them...everything is cold...the cold starts where his heart would be and spreads outward in ripples filling every part of him that it can reach...but then there is Bellatrix and Bellatrix is fire..._ The physical sensation of Madam Rhiannon's long green fingernails squeezing into the tender flesh of his wrist, finally brought him out of the reverie of torture. He tried to be angry, tried to threaten her, but his lips couldn't form words. "Don't try to talk. Just listen. You can feel emotions. Maybe not anymore...but you could...or you wouldn't be like this now, which means it is _possible_ for you. I'm not going to ask you what you saw. I don't need to. You know what you need to do this time...put aside your brain, put aside what seems logical and feel with the heart that I _know_ you have. Find the one who feels passionately, intensely, with the core of their whole being and ask them what that's like...ask them to teach you...then feel just as passionately, in your own way." He only knew one person who felt with her heart so passionately, intensely, crazily, yet so very surely-Bellatrix Lestrange. But right now he'd never felt more hatred towards her since he'd known her. Fuck Bellatrix Lestrange and her weak notions of _love_ and _loyalty._ "I've got the love potion, Madam." "Wonderful, Misty. Voldemort...no I'm not going to make you drink it-I want you to smell it. I want to know, but more importantly, I want you to know what it smells like to you." Voldemort couldn't hide that he, too, was curious. He couldn't remember making love potions in Potions class when he was a sixth year. Perhaps it was just too long ago-what had he smelled then? What would he smell now? Could a love potion smell like anything to someone who'd never loved? He leaned his slitted nostrils over the pearly liquid and its pale, spiraling vapors. The first thing he thought of was metal...no, not just any metal. Iron. The taste of iron in his mouth. "What do you smell?" Rhiannon asked impatiently. "Blood." "And?" "The mossy dampness inside a cave." Whether it was the underground caverns of his own home or the cave where he'd hid his locket Horcrux, he was unsure...but he'd always been fond of caves all the same. The mossy smell was a bit like fertilizer with hints of dirt and water that'd been sitting too long. "And?" "Elder wood." This one was more of a guess...well, a thought that came to him suddenly and surely that elder wood was what it was even thought it smelled like any ordinary wood to him-though a bit heavier and muskier, like cedar. "And?" "I can't distinguish...this last," he said frustratedly. There was _something_ there, he knew. Something more than blood and moss and wood...Where had he smelled it before? A pub? Yes, it was a drink...a spicy drink...cinnamon something. "It's a drink, I think. Cinnamon something...but I'm not thinking of the drink, it's more the _smell_ of the drink...with a note of incense?" "Patchouli, maybe?" "Perhaps," he replied. She was looking at him strangely, with a very full-of-herself grin carving out its way on her wrinkled face. "You smelled _all_ those things? Never mind what they mean and never mind how certain you are of the individual scents. The fact that you could smell anything confirmed to me what I thought all along-you are completely capable of love. You just haven't been shown enough of it in your lifetime to know how to recognize it. If you truly couldn't feel it, you wouldn't have smelled anything in the potion at all...now, go about doing with this information whatever it means to you." 


	8. Chapter 8: She Loves Him Still

**Chapter 8: She Loves Him Still (also known as the real 'Tale as Old as Time')**

 **A/N: Yay! Chapter 8! I'm trying to get the whole story finished by Thursday, so I'm going to have my work cut out for me if I want to meet my goal, but I definitely feel up to the challenge! Thank you for all the reviews on my last chapter and I'm sorry for those who felt disappointed by it. I tried to set up a contrast between ch.7 (Voldy's pure stream of thoughts, logic, not much emotion, nearly all inside his head) and ch. 8 (Bella's POV, nearly all dialogue, all emotion, all heart) and of course I always write dreams and memories in my stories in italics to set them apart from the main text (sorry if that wasn't clear enough!) Thanks for pointing out your confusion with it, because that's the only way I can improve the story going forward and when I go back to edit earlier parts in my later drafts. Anyway, I started really thinking a lot about Voldemort's psyche lately...which is why I wrote the weird memory scene in Ch.7 confirming what JKR told us readers at some point-that voldy is not necessarily incapable of love because he was conceived under a love potion, but because his life was so horrible and no one ever taught him to love or showed him any compassion...and then I started thinking the same thing could have happened to Harry Potter or any of the characters (Snape, for example) easily. The Dursleys may have been cruel to Harry, but at least they gave him a place to call home-Voldy didn't even have that. I tried to imagine his situation, living year after year in a shitty orphanage hoping to be adopted and being constantly told there was something wrong with him just because he was different and suddenly I got really sad for the character. Meanwhile, I feel like Bellatrix kind of has the opposite problem. She would have had a totally different upbringing full of pureblood status, privilege and the love of her sisters, but yet she still turned out fucked up in the reverse-overflowing with crazy love and not knowing what to do with it all. Well, all musings aside, here's Chapter 8! It's shorter than the last one, but it's my favorite chapter that i've written so far, so I'm curious to see what you guys think and hear any predictions you might have for what's going to happen with them/with the story.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

 **~SunDance~**

 **(Bellatrix)**

 _*Bellatrix was dreaming…She was being born out of the Earth, a tiny green root system shooting out of the ground and forming buds that formed leaves and finally, an eleven year-old Slytherin girl._

 _And then she was a raven, wings outstrectched, soaring over forest-capped mountains._

 _A green snake with beetle-black eyes slithering over the forest floor like a river flowing between the trees._

 _She was the spider form she'd adopted as her own, spinning a fine silk web to point her towards the center of everything._

 _She was the woman born from the ivy and the raven soaring over the mountains and the green snake with black eyes on the rainforest floor and the tiny poisonous spider all at once._

 _She was surrounded by protective green light sheathing her like leaves that all suddenly turned blue-gray and silvery with hints of fuschia until all she could see was a kaleidoscope of sunflowers dancing to music she couldn't hear, their yellow petals swaying and their brown centers became roses._

 _All the creatures-ivy and raven and snake and spider-met at the center, in the desert where a coyote laid by a burning campfire, waiting, because she was the center._

 _She was the center and the center loved Voldemort. They are joined and she felt whole. She was the ivy, the raven, the spider, the snake, the coyote...the center joined to Voldemort. And she wanted all of them to be whole forever…*_

Bellatrix awoke very suddenly, as though vigorously shaken. Tears streamed down her cheeks in thin wet ribbons.

"Bella! Are you alright?" The door of the guestroom at Malfoy Manor swung open and Narcissa rushed to the bedside.

"W...what?" Bellatrix rubbed the tears out of her eyes, but they continued to silently flow of their own accord.

"I heard you scream. It sounded like you were in pain." Narcissa crossed the room in her cloud-patterned silk nightdress and sat down at the foot of the bed, letting her hand brush against Bella's feet tangled under the blankets.

"I'm alright, it's just...I had a dream…" Bellatrix was still trying to gather herself and her thoughts from what she'd just experienced. It had been more than a dream and yet somehow less than a dream at the same time. Not much had happened...not much that she understood anyway, but she'd never felt that way before. Light. Complacent. Made of air...until she'd fallen back into the same density she'd never noticed before.

"A nightmare?"

"No...nothing like that. In fact it was wonderful...it was…"

"Bella...are you crying?!" Bellatrix struggled to hide her face behind her hair, but it was no use because her sobs were coming on more intensely. They were the loud, sloppy kind of sobs that made her entire body shake. The kind of tears she'd never let anyone see...but everytime she tried to stop, she only started crying harder.

"Oh, it's no use hiding it...Cissy, I love him. I love him so much I'm so full of it-this all consuming, drowning love-and I just want to shout it at the top of my lungs or punch something or both or just...I don't know. I don't know anything except that I love him."

"Love who? Bella what's going on?"

"The Dark Lord. I need to be with him to feel complete. There's a piece of me that's missing, a part of me that has always been missing...this hollow feeling right in the pit of my gut that has only gone away one time in my recent memory...when he invited me to dinner at his home after he saved me. I felt so...full...so completely whole that I didn't even know what to say except stupid shit to keep me from saying 'I want every course of this meal to last its own separate forever'." The center from the dream was gone and had left a hollowness in its place that Bellatrix had now spent decades growing used to. Everything felt urgent. Desperate. Like if she didn't share with Narcissa right now how much she loved the Dark Lord, she would lose any chance to tell anyone. Narcissa however, didn't seem to pick up on the urgency. She smiled with only half her face, and reached out a hand to push several stray strands of Bellatrix's hair behind her ears.

"It's only lust, Bella. You just...with Rodolphus gone, it's only natural that you have needs...You're projecting your needs onto the Dark Lord." As she spoke, the empty pit inside Bellatrix burned with a new fire. She was suddenly angry with Narcissa and didn't know why...only that she didn't ever want anyone to demean or diminish her feelings again.

"You think I'd be content just to sleep with him?!" she exclaimed incredulously. "Don't you understand that wanting to sleep with him was only part of the beginning...when I was a girl and I saw him for the first time across the Slytherin Common Room as Head Boy, I was only eleven and I longed to press my lips against his. I felt innocent and pure for the first time in my life. All the things our mother wanted me to be when she told me to be more like you…"

"Oh, Bella…"

"And then when I was sixteen and recruiting new Death Eaters at Hogwarts, I was embarrassed because we were brewing love potions in Slughorn's class and it got out that mine smelled like cinnamon and licorice wands and pine forest and….Tom Riddle's shampoo...Back then, I wanted to lie with him and press our bodies together and feel him inside of me...but don't you see? He's already inside me, Cissy. He's been inside me over twenty years and I've had to live that whole time with how badly I want to create moments with him. All of them and all of him, forever. He's already inside me and I'm inside him too, whether he wants to admit it or not. He saved my life when letting me die would have been easier-when he's had every reason under the sun to hate me, three times now. That something that's there is strangling me, Cissy. But it's also what keeps me warm at night." Bellatrix sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and then pressing her forehead into them as if with enough pressure, she could force all of this out of her. In her mind, she was sixteen again and smelling the Amortentia love potion for the first time. She'd already loved him, she knew. But something about smelling him there, amidst all the other smells that were dear to her, in a room full of her peers, made her feel embarassed and vulnerable, but proud at the same time. _Look...you can see it in my eyes, this overpowering love that I have..._

"Oh, Bella. I wish I could set you free from all this-make you forget." Narcissa drew her wand, which she'd evidently been holding to her side the whole time. "Sometimes I just want to make you forget all of it..him, the war, Mother disowning Andromeda, this whole mess…"

"No! DON'T YOU DARE! I am free, Cissy. I'm free to feel this way!" Bellatrix reacted instincively, shoving Narcissa to the other side of the bed and knocking her wand away in the process. She didn't know if she'd actually been considering wiping her memory, but she thought her reaction was justified all the same. Narcissa didn't even flinch.

"Maybe you'd feel freer if you told him."

"Are you MAD Narcissa? For one thing, I think he already knows-"

"Yes, I do think he knows...but probably not quite the extent of this. If he could only see-hell, if _you_ could see the look in your eyes and hear the way your voice breaks when you tell me this-he needs to see and hear that to know how real it is for you...who knows, not that I'd ever want to give you false hope...but maybe it'd even...awake something in him..." Narcissa trailed off and Bellatrix felt herself getting angry again. _Not that I'd want to give you false hope..._ FALSE HOPE?! Who was delicate, perfect Narcissa Malfoy to talk to anyone about false hope when she'd gotten anything she'd ever wanted? Besides, Bella didn't know how exactly Narcissa was envisioning she broach a conversation about her feelings with the Dark Lord, but she couldn't see it ending well.

"And risk him kicking me out? Because he wouldn't kill me. He'd have a worse way to punish me if I said anything like this. He'd kick me out like a common muggleborn to watch him gain power, meanwhile we'd never be close to each other again. He's started being kind to me again these past weeks, Cissy. We can't wreck it. These little moments...a brush of my arm against his through our cloaks at a meeting...one stolen glance…even if after that…"

"You feel like this," Narcissa finished for her.

"But you see I feel like this all the time," Bellatrix explained. "Every second. It just gets pushed behind other things most of the time...but those little moments with him, those hints at what could have been, keep me from losing my mind to a feeling I should never have had. My heart has grown as gnarled and twisted as his, I think sometimes...I must have been cursed...the way I have to feel like this...but I wouldn't have it any other way and wouldn't be happy with anyone else…." She thought she was finally done crying, but then a fresh wave of tears crashed over her and she found herself drowning in their sea, struggling for air. Narcissa didn't say anything for awhile, but she slid closer to Bellatrix and wrapped an arm around her. Bella didn't push it away. She just kept holding her breath for longer and longer periods to try to make the horrible, embarrassing crying stop, but every time she let the breaths go, she choked on more new tears.

"But there are others who'd be so much better suited for you. Like Severus, dear...think of it...he's smart like the Dark Lord. Just as mysterious and dare I say it, _cruel_...and misguided...the two of them even kind of look alike...but the difference is that he's just as lonely as you are."

"Don't you dare call me lonely, Narcissa!" Bellatrix snapped, suddenly tensing up again and pushing Narcissa's arm away. "And if you ever tell anyone about this-or about me shedding tears over this nonsense, I'll jinx your eyeballs together. And if you ever try setting me up with Snivellus Snape again, or dare even suggest tampering with my memory, I'll...I'll fake our blood status to the Wizengamot!"

"Go back to sleep, Bella. Now you're talking like a crazy woman."

"But I am a crazy woman," she said, realization hitting her at the same time. She _was_ a crazy woman. A crazy woman who loved the most insane, evil, twisted, complicated man alive and wouldn't have it any other way.

"You haven't even tried to give him up. He's bad for you, Bella. Like a drug." Narcissa was frowning and her eyebrows, too, had curved downward into an expression of utter pity like the one she wore the night Bella laid in this same bed, under these same green and white blankets, recovering from the Battle of Little Whinging and learning that the Dark Lord was furious with her for trying to save his life. There was nothing Bellatrix hated more than pity from others.

"No he isn't...and even if he is like a drug, he's the best kind of drug. The kind that keeps you alive...the kind that's making my heart keep beating.."

"Just tell him all this, Bella. You'll feel better. It wouldn't be trapped inside you anymore."

"He'd never speak to me again. And Cissy...I couldn't take it." She turned away, averting her eyes, ashamed. It was all so easy for Narcissa to say. _Just tell him..._ well, if _she_ told someone she loved them the way Bellatrix loved the Dark Lord, people would think she was kind for it. Nobody would think Bellatrix was kind...not when they already thought she was a monster, the Dark Lord being no exception. Besides, she was just a servant to him. A servant. Nothing more. It wasn't her place to say how she felt about anything and it certainly wouldn't be proper for the two of them to ever have a conversation about...this.

"And they always said I was the one with the weak heart," said Narcissa with a small laugh.

"I'm not weak."

"No, you're right. You're the strongest person I've ever known...You know, I've always envied you a little bit, Bella. When Mother cast aside any notion of...taming you...and after she disowned Andromeda, she was so focused on me having the perfect pureblood marriage. Everything with Lucius was arranged from when we were children and believe me, I love him, I do...and I love the little family we've made together...but Bella, you were free to give your whole heart fully, wildly, to the older boy you told me about over the summers when you knew no one else was listening. I wanted so much more for you...my sister who was free to love...than this…" Narcissa wrapped her arm around Bellatrix again, pulling her close. "You always took such good care of me, Bels. I'm sorry nobody else ever recognized that."

"I didn't need the recognition. I told you, I'll always protect you. That's what sisters do. But didn't you ever think that maybe I wanted someone to arrange something for me, too? The fact that mother never tried for me...I always thought it was because she thought I was unlovable." She didn't need recognition, but it would have been nice to have heard even once when she was young that she at least had the ability to make someone feel cared about...no one ever thinks a monster can care about anybody.

"You're not unlovable, Bellatrix. You know that. You're just…"

"Not as good as you." Narcissa made a frustrated sound with her throat and looked down at her frosted-tipped toes. Bellatrix knew she'd probably crossed the line, but had no intention of apologizing.

"Stop that. Stop that right now. You're perfectly lovable and caring...and you'd have been a good mother, too. I just always thought you never wanted all that…"

"Oh don't you DARE with that!" Bellatrix hissed, feeling her angriest yet. She shoved Narcissa further away with her shoulder and crossed her arms very tightly over her chest. Of course she would say that. _Perfect mother_ Narcissa thought evil, monstruous, independent Bella must never have wanted children. With her left thumb and index fingers, Bellatrix lightly pinched the space beween the bridge of her nose and her eyebrows to keep herself from losing her temper, but somehow the action only made her feel sad. Why did she always have to be the one to protect herself?

"Cissy, I used to see you with Draco and I never wanted anything more...than to have what you and Lucius had, with the Dark Lord...with...Tom." She used to play it all out in her mind when she was fourteen and fifteen, before her thoughts completely gave well to naughtiness. Lying in her four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory, she'd stare out the porthole window that reflected the inky depths of the Black Lake and organize thoughts that gave way to lucid dreams. Bellatrix Lestrange and Tom Riddle's wedding day. Her short, off-white dress made of lace and all the red and black roses in the world...

"But why not with Rodolphus?" Narcissa interjected with downcast eyes. "He wanted to have children with you, I know it. We spoke about it sometimes...why not-"

"He never deserved to father any child of mine. It revolted me to lay beside that man."

"Then why did you marry him?"

"On my wedding day...when Mother was already dying, she said...she was proud of me. That I'd finally grown up and become the woman she always knew I could be...and Cissy, that was worth everything to me."

"Do you regret it now?"

"No. How could I. Mother was so proud of me. And Roddy wasn't a bad man. Just a really stupid one."

They were a quiet for a time after that. Bellatrix wrapped her own arm around the small of her youngest sister's back and moved the palm of her hand in gentle circles because she didn't feel at ease unless she was the one doing the comforting. When she thought Narcissa had fallen asleep, she stopped rubbing her back and just listened to the silence of the seemingly timeless time between midnight and dawn. Surely everyone else was asleep...whoever stayed at the Manor tonight, anyway...Draco was back at school, but Lucius was around of course...and sometimes Yaxley stayed. The Dark Lord even used the smaller of the Manor's two libraries as one of his studies, but he rarely stayed overnight...probably because he had a much more secret and much more beautiful place to sleep...if he ever slept...

"Bella?"

"Mhm?"

"I feel like we're little girls again...Staying up all night talking about love and hope and dreams...it's like Mother is going to come down the hall right this very minute and tell us to get to sleep…"Narcissa trailed off nostalgically, but Bellatrix didn't feel anything like a little girl. Maybe because she so desperately didn't want to.

"So much has changed since we were children, Cissy."

"Not really. Not when you think about it."

Bellatrix bit down on her lip to keep from saying anything mean back to her sister. _Nothing had changed..._ of course it hadn't. Narcissa was still happy with her family around her all the time and Bellatrix was still very much alone.

"If you could tell him anything without fear of judgment or him casting you away, what would you say?" Narcissa asked. She took three strands of Bellatrix's hair between her fingers and began to braid them, undoing the knots as she did so. Just like when they were girls.

"Either nothing at all. Or the most romantic thing I could think of at the time."

"Why nothing?"

"Because like you said, if we could have that moment alone together, he'd only need to look at me to know everything that I feel. Everything I've always felt."


	9. Chapter 9: Love's A Hard Game To Play

**Chapter 9: Love's A Hard Game To Play**

 **(** **LOLdemort)**

"A Halloween Ball? We're having a...Halloween Masquerade Ball?"

"Yes. The Annual Death Eaters' Ball. We held a rather nice one on Halloween last year, but you were spying for us and didn't have the good fortune to be able to attend." Voldemort watched Snape's face twitch oddly around as his mouth as it curved upwards and then down again at the creases.

"But...my Lord...pardon my asking, but why have one at all?"

"A Ball does surprisingly good things for morale. And we've had a lot to celebrate over this past year...much of which, came to us at your hand...which is why I have a very special assignment for you regarding the Ball." Voldemort honored Snape's question with an answer not only because he recognized the strangeness of the Death Eaters having a party celebrating anything, but also because he had something important to order of him and required his utmost cooperation.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Ask Bellatrix to attend with you. As your date for the evening." If Severus Snape's expression had been difficult to read before, that was nothing compared to the changes affixing it now. The corners of his mouth twitched again and the downward crease deepened along with his eyebrows until the rest of his face seemed to follow suit until Snape was positively scowling.

"Pardon me, My Lord...but is this quite necessary? You know I find Bellatrix Lestrange to be rather...repulsive...And that's speaking lightly."

"Bellatrix actually hosted our Halloween Ball at Lestrange Manor with Rodolphus last year and they did a surprisingly good job with it. The theme was Monsters and Madness, I believe..."

"Who's holding it this year?"

"Narcissa and Lucius here at Malfoy Manor, for convenience sake, since the Manor already has all our secrecy enchantments around it."

Voldemort did a quick mental scan of his physical body to see if anything felt different since he said Narcissa's name. Nearly everything he'd been reading told him there'd be some kind of visceral reaction-a skipped heartbeat, a turn of his stomach, a smile he couldn't control...but he didn't feel anything except maybe a little bit hungry. Maybe that was just a muted version of what was supposed to be happening.

Severus Snape's eyes narrowed in sudden understanding.

"You have an ulterior motive for going all out with this Ball, don't you, my Lord? Something regarding the prophecy."

"Clever as ever, Severus. If you recall the Seer's most recent prophecy, then you know I must have taken a Dark Lady by May of this coming new year."

"Yes...Any luck in deducing who the prophecy might be about?"

"I think it might be Narcissa Malfoy. And what better place than a Ball to try to confirm it." He'd read it first in _Ten Thousand Fool Proof Ways to Find Love_ , but the sentiment had presented itself in other pieces of literature as well once he knew what to look for. _One should strive for balance in love: Your love should be the light that brightens your own darkness._

If he was looking for a love that was light in any kind of darkness, then he couldn't consider Bellatrix at all. Two evils couldn't create love. Only more chaos. He couldn't right well find someone on their side anyone would consider _good_ but Narcissa was as close as he was going to find under such short notice.

As September chilled to October, Voldemort had been ignoring Bellatrix and had given no mention since their dinner in August about her helping him with anything, but lately he'd seen no harm in being more conventionally warm to her-with no explanation, even sometimes letting her sit at his right-hand at Death Eater meetings. All the while, he'd been trying to discern any heightened reactions to her younger sister. He was getting impatient. He'd put everything aside for this and was even begininning to doubt it wasn't just a hoax from the other side to keep him from getting the Elder Wand and defeating the Boy Who Lived once and for all.

"Why wouldn't you consider going with Bellatrix, my Lord?" Snape asked. "She does think...highly of you."

"Yes, I had thought of that. Which is precisely why I have ordered you to ask her to the Ball as your date."

"And meanwhile you're going to try to reason out if the prophecy is about Narcissa Malfoy's feelings towards you?"

"You sound like you have your doubts," said Voldemort and Snape instantly drew back and bowed.

"No, my Lord...I only meant...what about Lucius?"

"What about him?" Voldemort watched Snape pause and knew he was considering his words very carefully.

"I only think he won't take too kindly to seeing his wife with the Dark Lord much like Bellatrix won't take too kindly to seeing you with her sister." How could Snape think that he, Voldemort, hadn't considered that? Of course he hadn't planned on parading Narcissa under the noses of Lucius and Bellatrix on the night of the Ball. He meant only to meet with her privately and find out how she felt knowing that she was not the skilled Occlumens that her sister was.

"Besides, If I do _love_ Bellatrix as you seem to think," Voldemort said, the word tripping over his tongue from a lifetime of disuse, "I, too, should _feel_ something when I see her with you, should I not?

 **(Bellatrix)**

"Bellatrix, we are holding a Halloween Ball here at this Manor in less than a week's time and I could really use your help...you said yourself that you were happy to see Lucius and I back in favor."

Bellatrix was sitting at the shiny white marble countertop in the center of Narcissa's kitchen in a long black day dress, watching her sister mold pink fondant in the shape of a brain around a red velvet cake Slinky the house elf had prepared.

"I did say something to that effect, yes." She said, twirling her wand between her fingers.

"Then won't you help me with this? You know I'm no good at Halloween, Bella."

Neither Narcissa or Bellatrix had spoken a word of Bella's intensely emotional moment a few weeks ago and they instead behaved as if the night had never happened. Bellatrix was pleased with this, as she never would have gotten over her embarrassment if anyone else ever found out that she: strong, tough, powerful Bellatrix Lestrange, had woken up crying in the night over a dream about being in love with the Dark Lord. She watched Narcissa's cake decorations start to take shape now and thought it was looking more and more like a pile of pink rope than a brain, so she _Accio_ 'ed it in her direction, causing it to slide across the countertop on its white-gold platter.

"Just let me do it," she said, taking hold of one one of the fondant ropes and molding it in between her fingertips. Narcissa looked relieved.

"Alright, so I think I've got food all taken care of…" she said, more to herself than to Bellatrix. "We'll have the tomato soup and bouillabaisse for appetizers...for entrees I've got the dragon tartare and the steak and kidney pie... and drinks are set, I'm just still working on all the desserts."

"And you decided on brain cake as one of them?"

Narcissa paled. "What? What's wrong with it? Too macabre?"

Bellatrix cackled at her sister's frustration."No, I'm just messing with you-I think it's wonderful."

"Oh, good. And you'll be making your chocolate pumpkins again, I presume?"

"No, I'm going to bring a tub of edible dark marks instead."

"Bella!"

"Relax, Cissy. Of course I've got the chocolate pumpkins." Bellatrix could only smile while Narcissa went on fretting, this time, about decorations. She couldn't wait to see the look on her little sister's face when she woke up the morning of the party with everything already decorated and appropriately spooky. Perks of having a sister who loved Halloween as much as Bellatrix did. She already had everything all planned out. Last year, she'd cleared the entrance hall of Lestrange Manor for the Monsters and Madness Ball and bewitched the ceiling to look like the full moon night sky outside, with one exception. The moon was enfused with essence of boggart and would occasionally take the shape of various party guest's worst fears throughout the night. She'd also enchanted the smoke from all the drink potions and hot soup carafes to take the shape of bony skeleton couples in wedding gowns and tuxedos, dancing amongst the guests, and Bellatrix had already had a whole year to think about how she was going to one-up it for this year's Masquerade theme.

"What about place settings for dinner, dear?" she reminded Narcissa gently.

"Oh shit...Well, I'm still waiting on the final count of who everyone is bringing...I've owled Severus twice now asking about his rumored plus one, but he hasn't gotten back to me." Bellatrix laughed so fully that she dropped the fondant rope she was holding.

"Really, Bella…" Narcissa turned around from where she was charming individual bundles of black and silver tulle to thread around each other.

"Please? That slimy git? Taking _a date?"_

She made eye contact with her sister and then they were both laughing, smiles wide, tears dangerously close to streaming down their faces.

"Imagine him...showing up to pick up his date the night of the ball, in what, the same robes he's been wearing for the past twenty-five years!"

"Well, he'll have to wear a Masquerade mask when he arrives, dear. Everyone will."

"As...long...as...I...don't...have...to...use...shampoo," Bellatrix said in her best impersonation of Snape's voice.

"What are we laughing about?" Narcissa grew stone-faced as Severus Snape himself strode into the kitchen, his long black robes billowing behind him as usual, his hair as greasy as ever. Bellatrix kept on howling with laughter, slapping the counter in front of her with the hand that wasn't holding the ball of fondant, thinking his sudden, perfectly-timed appearance made everything funnier. Really. _Snape. On a date._

"Good afternoon, Severus, we were just-"

"Cissy says you're taking a date to the Halloween Ball!" Bellatrix exclaimed gleefully and Narcissa muttered something under her breath that sounded like "no tact, whatsoever." To her surprise, however, Snape didn't look offended at all. Instead, his lips curled into a very dry, almost creepy-looking smile. The kind she imagined he gave students who were about to fail their Potions O. .

"Funny that _you_ should be the one to ask me about that, Bellatrix," he said, and she stopped laughing at once, her own grin sliding off her face.

"Why? Why is it funny?" She was starting to get a terrible feeling in the pit of her gut where such terrible feelings had a habit of residing. Anything that made Snape this happy, striding into Malfoy Manor in broad daylight on a Wednesday, could mean nothing good for anyone else.

"Because the Dark Lord has ordered that _you_ be precisely the date I'm rumored to be taking." He was doing that weird "you've turned in late homework and I'm failing you" smile again and Bellatrix very seriously thought for a moment that she might throw up on him right there. In any case, she thought her jokes were funnier.

"Fucking Christ! Ew! No! You're joking...Cissy tell me he has to be joking…" She crinkled her face in magnified disgust and internally dared her sister say anything along the lines of this being a good idea. Just a couple of weeks ago, on the very night they wouldn't speak of, Narcissa had even suggested Bellatrix hook up with Severus on the account of their both being "lonely." Unfortunately, (or fortunately, as Bellatrix saw it) she and Snape had been in the same year in Slytherin at Hogwarts and as such had known each other a painfully long time and couldn't have had less chemistry together if they took love potion.

"Believe me," said Snape, his smirk fading and his face crinkling much like Bellatrix's was, "my reaction was shockingly similar to yours...but it's the Dark Lord's orders and certainly doesn't stem from any...desire...of mine." The magnitude of it hit Bellatrix like a stray Bludger during a Quidditch Match. The Dark Lord wanted...no... _ordered..._ Snivellus Snake and Bellatrix go to the Halloween Ball together...and if the Dark Lord had ordered it, well...No...he couldn't have. It was all some horrible, disgusting joke.

"Is the Dark Lord here?"

"Yes, I expect he's up in his study," Narcissa replied, somewhat hesitantly. "...but Bella, maybe you should calm down a bit before you say or do something you'll regret-"

"No! If he really thinks he can set me up on dates and ruin my Halloween without asking me first, he deserves to see me angry!" She spat and stormed from the room, leaving Narcissa and Snape to stare after her incredulously, like they couldn't believe she would really go yell at the Dark Lord. Their reaction only served to make her more angry. Surely, if it was a joke, one or both of them would have stopped her before she left...which led her to believe maybe it was true after all.

The door to the Dark Lord's makeshift study was closed and Bellatrix glanced around for any sign of Nagini, his snake, who typically guarded the door of any room in which her Master worked. She didn't have much time to wonder, however, because the door swung open and the Dark Lord stood before her in the entrance way, with Nagini coiled around his neck.

"How did you know I was out here so quickly?"

"Really, Bellatrix. I could hear your throughts a floor below. You aren't even trying to cover them up-you're angry with me. Why?" His tone was surprisingly even and Bellatrix was cautious to take a deep breath and make sure the shroud around her mind was firmly back in place. Where would she be if he could see the _other_ thoughts she often had of him?

"My Lord...Severus is here. He said something about...something about the Halloween Ball and I was just wondering-"

"Whether or not I had indeed ordered him to ask you to accompany him?" She panicked then, shutting her eyes and looking into her own mind to make sure the shroud was firmly in place, but to her astonishment, the Dark Lord chuckled.

"It's alright, Bellatrix. Your thoughts are secure, though very easy enough to guess at the present moment." When she didn't say anything, he went on. "Yes. I suppose I was expecting something like this. Very well...though I'd rather we go somewhere more private to discuss it...my home, perhaps?"

"You want me to go...with you?" The last time she'd been in his home, he'd been angry with her for getting lost and stumbling upon a dying rose kept curiously in a glass case and he'd ordered her out, she assumed never to return. And now he was inviting her back.

"Yes. And we'll have to side-along apparate, because just as with Hogwarts school, the enchantments to Slytherin's Manor are such that only the Secret Keeper can apparate within its walls."

The Dark Lord extended his arm and nervously, Bellatrix grabbed a loose hold of it. A shudder ran through her. They were touching. They were touching...and he wasn't yelling at her.

They apparated into a surprisingly cozy sitting room filled with warmth by a roaring fire in a slate stone fireplace. The walls of the very square room seemed to be all red, but they were adorned with shiny black woodwork and trim. As with many of the rooms in the Dark Lord's Manor, one wall was made up entirely of black bookcases set side by side and another wall was taken up by a large silver trimmed mirror. The only true light source in the room seemed to be the fireplace, because any other light came from the dim flickering of red candles dripping wax onto the bases of the black candelabras they'd been set in all around the room. The windows were, as was typical for the Manor, all covered by thick curtains, though these were not black vinyl like in the cave room, but crimson and silver paisley.

"Welcome to the Red Room, Bella."

Reluctantly, she let go of the Dark Lord's arm and took a seat on the only place there was to sit in the room, an old Gothic loveseat in front of the fireplace which was cushioned in pristine white and backed with a very dark wood that looked to be walnut, like her wand.

"May I get you something to drink?" The Dark Lord asked, his voice astoundingly tender.

"Do you still have that Cinnamon Fire Whiskey?" she asked and with a _pop_ he was gone, presumably to go and get it, leaving Bellatrix alone in the Red Room in the meantime. She smoothed the creases in her dress nervously and craned her neck over the back of the loveseat so that she could look in the mirror, which fortunately, didn't try to talk to her. She thought she looked tired. Dare she even see it, wrinkled. Not like the Bellatrix she'd once been, but just as strong. _No, stronger._

 _Pop!_ The Dark Lord was back, two goblets in his hand filled with a slowly steaming red liquid. He handed one to her and then with his own, he sat down beside her on the loveseat. Damn, this day was full of surprise. _Not that there was anywhere else to sit_...she thought dismally, but still. He could have conjured another chair. He could have stayed standing. But instead, he'd _chosen_ to sit beside her in front of the fire.

"What is troubling you, Bella?"

Bellatrix frowned and took a long sip of her drink, letting the spice sting her throat on the way down. Since she'd been in Narcissa's kitchen, a good bit of her anger towards the Dark Lord has abated leaving her less frustrated than placidly curious.

"Why do I have to go to the Ball with Severus, my Lord? And if I do, why didn't you talk to me about it first?" As soon as the questions were out of her mouth, Bellatrix felt disgustingly juvenile. Certainly, the Dark Lord had to have more on his mind than who was taking who to a dance, and Bellatrix hadn't asked him about any of it.

She expected him to get angry, remind her that he was the Dark Lord and she was just a servant in no place to be questioning his orders, but he didn't. He just sighed quietly and took a drink from his own goblet. For the first time, she noticed that he looked as tired as she did, if not more so. His skin was waxy, like hot clay gathered in pouches underneath his eyes, which though normally ablaze with red fire, were today sunken and muddy-looking, like he hadn't slept or eaten well in days.

"Are...you...alright, my Lord?" He didn't answer her question at all. Instead, he turned towards her and cupped her chin in his hands, tilting her face up towards his own. "I know you're my best Death Eater, Bellatrix. Don't ever think I don't recognize your unwavering loyalty to me. I know you don't understand why doing this favor for me is important now, how could you, when I've offered you no explanation..but, nevertheless…"

"I'll do it," she said. And she meant it, too. _I'll do it...for you._ She closed her eyes, feeling only two things: the way her eyelashes tickled her skin like cobwebs, and her chin, weightless, in his hands. A chin. Yes, she had a chin. Slowly, she opened her eyes and searched until she found his, still so unusually vacant.

"You're truly a woman in a league of your own, Bella…" he whispered, letting go of her chin as he did so, one finger at a time.

"I'm not sure if you mean that as a compliment to me or not, my Lord."

"Neither am I." He picked up his drink and she left her face hanging there for just a few seconds, already preserving the memory of this one time he wanted to touch her. But now she really thought something had to be wrong. He was never this kind. To anyone, let alone to her. So she took a risk, thinking about what she often saw Narcissa do to Lucius when he was tired and downcast. She inched closer to the Dark Lord and he didn't move away from her. Very gently, she laid the side of her face against his shoulder so that her messy hair was brushing against his cheeks and she was coiling around him like Nagini. Again, he didn't move. Didn't react. He didn't put his arm around her...but he didn't push her away, either. She wondered briefly if he still smelled anything like Tom Riddle's shampoo...and he didn't. _Probably because he doesn't have hair anymore, you stupid twat!_ she told herself and if he could hear her thoughts, he didn't let on.

They stayed like that for awhile, half sitting up and half lying down on the loveseat, until Bellatrix had finished her drink and was starting to feel her eyes getting heavy. She risked settling herself closer against the Dark Lord, feeling the warmth of the fire and his robes against her skin cover her like a blanket.

Bellatrix let her eyelids flutter once, twice, and then close as she succumbed to sleep and warmth and the smell of the ever-crackling fire.

"Bella," whispered a voice. A voice that was connected to someone who had an arm around her and a hand gently rubbing the space between her shoulders. She blinked open her eyes, not knowing how long she'd closed them for, and was immediately confronted with the reality that she'd fallen asleep using the Dark Lord as a pillow. She wriggled away from him, horrified, as far as she could get on the other side of the loveseat, bracing herself for his reaction.

"I'm so so sorry...my Lord…I didn't mean-"

"Bellatrix."

"My Lord, please, it'll never happen again...a serious lapse in my own judgment, I-"

"Bellatrix. Please. You may call me Voldemort." Her eyes widened as she cocked her head to one side, unsure if she'd heard him correctly.

"V...Voldemort," she said finally and he nodded. "Well, then, V...V...Voldemort. Why do you need to ask a favor of me?" He didn't reply right away and she thought maybe he was going to get angry with her for asking something that might not be her place, but he merely shut his eyes, absently rubbing his temples on either side of his forehead.

"We will talk more about it after the Ball. For now, though, you need to be going and I need to rest."


	10. Chapter 10: Behind the Mask

**Chapter 10: Behind the Mask**

 **(VoldeTORTE)**

 **A/N: Tried to conjure all the awkward memories of my own high school senior prom when I was writing this chapter-I hope anyone whose ever been to a prom with a date they don't care for and then attended an afterprom rife with drunk awkward teenagers acting stupid will appreciate this chapter lol but for all of you who've waited so patiently for real bellamort to start, wait no longer-because it's here! You really didn't think a character like Voldemort would turn into a cute romantic overnight, did you? Well maybe now he'll finally realize he's been a stupid boy lately and couldn't see the one who was meant for him right under his nose (if he had a nose, that is) anyway, enjoy! :)**

 **~Sun Dance~**

 **p.s. anyone who finds themselves thinking "Voldy can't possibly be college-freshman-at-his-first-party-level awkward" I cite the hug at the end of Deathly Hallows**

Finally, the night of the Halloween Ball arrived clear and moonlit. The main dining room of Malfoy Manor had been magically expanded to three times its usual size and filled with round tables covered in shimmering black tablecloths. It was at one of these tables that Voldemort sat now, facing a tiny place-setting placard that read "The Dark Lord" on it in fine silver script. This table, for the Dark Lord and his inner circle of best and favorite Death Eaters, stood at the head of the room beneath a large floating black masquerade mask. The seats on either side of him were set for Bellatrix and Narcissa, with other place-settings at the table marked out for Severus, Lucius, Travers and Sedona, the Knockturn Alley bartender he was bringing as his date.

"How are you finding things, my Lord?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, swooping down upon him in an acid-green masquerade mask trimmed with white and silver. Her characteristic long white-blond hair was curled into soft ringlets by magic and trailing down the back of the green sequined dress robes she was wearing.

"Everything is quite...enchanting," Voldemort replied, saying the first word that came to his mind. And really it was. It wasn't as conventionally Halloween as when Bellatrix held the Ball last year and he saw his own corpse fall from the ceiling about halfway through dinner, but maybe it was for the best. The ceiling this year, he noticed, was covered in a shining silver mist flecked throughout with gold and navy blue.

"I'm a basilisk," Narcissa said with a smile as she sat down at her place on his right-side and Voldemort tried to smile back, but really he thought she looked nothing like a basilisk. Technically, though she didn't know it, Narcissa was kind of Voldemort's _date_ for the evening and he thought maybe he should say something to her-the kind of thing someone might say on a date-but nothing was coming to mind. After all, he hadn't been on a real date since his school days and hadn't known quite what to say then, either.

"The food is...remarkable," he said stiffly, but Narcissa only raised an eyebrow quizzically above her mask.

"My Lord...I thank you, but the food hasn't been served yet."

"Oh...right…"

Voldemort was saved the trouble of explaining himself, when Narcissa suddenly dropped the silver napkin she was folding in her lap and gave a startled gasp. Voldemort followed her eyes to the two people entering the dining room.

One of them was unremarkably and unmistakeably Severus in his usual robes, even with the plain black mask he was wearing over half his face...but if he hadn't already known the identity of Snape's date for the evening, he too would have gasped like Narcissa when he saw the woman who entered the room beside him. She was also wearing her usual black, but her dress looked like the night sky splashed with diamonds in the shape of stars. Her hair was messy as always, but smooth tonight and strung with more diamonds, these in the shape of spiders bewitched to scuttle through her curls.

Her masquerade mask was thin and only covered to where it rested on the bridge of her nose, but eight black and silver streamers hung from its sides, cascading down to her chest, presumably to represent the legs of a spider.

He tried to take his eyes off of her for even a moment to focus back on Narcissa, but he watched her all the way until she sat down at his left-side with Snape beside her, shrouding him in the smell of roses.

"My Lord," she nodded curtly in his direction and folded her hands in front of her, looking thoroughly bored. He felt a surge of respect and admiration for her course through him. He knew she didn't want to be here with Snape, but here she was, behaving herself alongside Severus...because he'd asked her to.

Narcissa and Lucius stood as the room continued to fill with Death Eaters and their dates and welcomed everyone to the third annual Death Eaters Halloween Ball before they gave the summons for the house elves to bring out the appetizers. No sooner had she said so, than the small plate in front of Voldemort filled with bouillabaisse and the little bowl, with tomato soup. Finding himself unable to breathe in the smell of Bellatrix's perfume any longer through his nostril slits, he rose from the table with the intention of going and getting drinks from the imperiused Stan Shunpike, who was managing the bar.

"Might I get anything to drink for any of you?" he asked the Death Eaters sitting around the table. Travers and Sedona, who were already drinking from two large tankards of mead, shook their heads and Severus muttered something about "not drinking tonight…" Bellatrix, however, looked up at him expectantly.

"Do I even have to ask at this point?"

"Cinnamon Firewhiskey?" he prompted and she nodded...suddenly making him think of something. The second night he visited the swamp witches who made love potions-something he'd said-no, something he'd _smelled. "I can't distinguish...this last...It's a drink, I think. Cinnamon something…"_ No. It had to all be a coincidence.

As the dinner wore on, Voldemort found himself more and more looking forward to the party portion of the evening-not because he had any desire to step on the dance floor, but because he didn't think sitting between Narcissa and Bellatrix could get any more uncomfortable. As he dug into his steak and kidney pie, he kept smelling the two women's perfumes sliding under his nostril slits and blending together in a way that was starting to give him a headache. The heavy rosy smell of whatever Bellatrix was wearing mingled with the airy gardenia scent emnating from Narcissa and the resulting mix smelled like a Herbology greenhouse.

He was trying not to ignore Narcissa, but conversation just came more easily with Bellatrix. While the youngest Black sister was talking with Lucius, Travers and Sedona about something Draco was up to at Hogwarts, Bellatrix looked around the room and would occasionally whisper in his ear jokes about who couldn't keep what in their robes.

"Look at Dolohov," she whispered and Voldemort followed her eyes to the dimwitted Death Eater who was already quite drunk and standing by himself near the bar, swaying slightly from side to side and apparently hitting on Yaxley's date, a young redheaded woman who was crossing her arms over her chest and looking, even through her mask, like she wanted to hex something off Dolohov that shouldn't be talked about in civilized company.

"I'm impressed by what you've done with the place, who knew you could fit all these tables and a full bar in this room looking at it from the outside," Travers' date was saying.

"Yes, all owing to the spellwork of these two. Hard to tell the assets of a room when you've only seen it the size of a broom cupboard," said Lucius, gesturing to Bellatrix and ruffling the back of Narcissa's hair as he spoke. Travers started laughing snarkily.

"You'd know all about ass...ets, wouldn't you, Lestrange?"

Bellatrix choked on her firewhiskey and Voldemort noticed he was gripping his fork a little more tightly than he needed to. So much for civilized company.

"That's quite enough of that," he growled under his breath and Travers shifted in his seat. Bellatrix looked at him curiously, but kept on drinking from her goblet and he was fortunately spared from having to offer an explanation.

Finally, after what seemed like enough hours had drug on to last four Halloween Balls, Narcissa stood up and with a few flourishes of her wand, the tables vanished and all the Death Eaters were left standing on a shimmering black dance floor. A few of the tables and chairs remained, however and slid across the floor to the far wall, where another flourish of her wand left them laden with desserts and bowls of candies.

Bellatrix nudged Voldemort in the side as the music started playing (an old Weird Sisters hit called _Thirsty Like The Vampire_ ).

"Check out the the ceiling this year...I think it's some of my best work." She smirked and Voldemort looked up. Where the ceiling had before been filled with mist, the mist had become clouds shooting off bolts of blue lightning to the beat of the music. Save for the lightning, the room had gone completely dark.

"Aren't you going to dance with your date?" he asked and both she and Severus's eyebrows rose over their masks at the same time. He stepped a few paces away from her and then wandered off to the dessert table and remaining chairs as if he were actually concerned Voldemort might make them dance together. Bellatrix, seemingly fearing similar, set off in the direction of the bar leaving Voldemort to wonder where Narcissa had gotten to.

He didn't have to wander long-for a small crowd of Death Eaters had gathered around she and Lucius dancing wildly to _Crazy Comet 260._ It was the time of the night the Death Eaters looked forward to the most-the time to get incredibly drunk off of all the free liquor and dance until the wee hours of the morning.

He strolled over to the bar, past Bellatrix and Sedona, laughing and taking shots and again approached Stan Shunpike for a firewhiskey (no cinnamon this time), thinking a few more drinks might loosen him up enough to approach Narcissa and tell her about the prophecy.

An hour later, Voldemort was mildly regretting his decision to stay at the bar. He was never one to drink much, not caring for the ability impairment, and as such hadn't had this much to drink since his sixth year at Hogwarts, after Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup.

"Cat got your tongue, my Lord?...or maybe... _someplace else_ …" Bellatrix sidled up beside him at the bar as Stan slid her another shot. The heaviness of her rose perfume settled around him again and he breathed it in, letting it fill him. She leaned over to get her drink and the bare skin of her arm brushed against his robes. No...he told himself... _that's not how the night is supposed to go…_

"You could _try_ to have some fun," she whispered into his ear with breath that smelled like peppermint and alcohol.

But then he stood up, having just spotted Narcissa. The figures around him blurred as he strolled across the dancefloor towards where he'd seen the glimpse of green.

"Aah, Cissy. Just the witch I wanted to see," he said in his best attempt at a serious tone despite the fact that it looked like there were two Narcissas standing before him, waving her wand over a spilled bowl of candy corn at the dessert table to clean it up.

"Since when do you call me Cissy, my Lord?" She was smiling at him in the crooked half-smile way characteristic of her older sister.

"Where is Lucius?" he asked.

"Oh, he went off to have a cigar with a few of the others in the drawing room. Are you quite enjoying yourself?"

"This is a delightful ball. Might you have a dance with Lord Voldemort?" He extended his hand in the way Lucius had done after dinner earlier, but Narcissa only stared at it like she'd never seen a hand before. Finally, just when he was to give it up for lost, she let out a shrill laugh and closed her slender fingers around his own.

"Wow, the Dark Lord asking _me_ to dance. An honor, surely," she said, and he allowed her to lead the pair of them to the center of the dance floor as _I Put a Spell On You_ echoed through the room.

 _I put a spell on you_

 _Because you're mine_

He let his arm close around her waist as he pulled her closer to him, trying to figure out if he liked the smell of gardenias as much as he liked the smell of roses. The room was spinning with them as he continued to let Narcissa lead the dance. Never having been much for dancing, Voldemort was consciously trying not to step on her feet.

 _You know I love you_

 _I love you_

 _I love you_

 _I love you anyhow_

 _And I don't care if you don't want me_

 _I'm yours right now_

It seemed like she was trying to keep space between them and Voldemort wanted to show her that it was okay for her to feel the way the prophecy dictated she had to feel. He ran his fingers up the length of the back of her neck and very gently pressed her chin to his shoulder to show her it was okay to rest it there.

 _I put a spell on you_

 _Because you're mine_

 _Because you're mine_

 _Because you're mine_

The song ended and Voldemort attempted to dip Narcissa, an effort that led to her scrambling to stay standing as Voldemort nearly dropped her. He caught her with one hand and pulled her up towards him again, placing upon her neck his first kiss in decades. He was surprised then, when Narcissa pulled away from him so abruptly.

"My Lord...what are you playing at? Are you drunk?" Her blue eyes flashed with concern and Voldemort nodded.

"But only just. I wanted to talk to you, actually."

"Can't it-"

"It's important," he urged her, and still clutching his hand by the end of his fingertips, she led him out of the dining room and out into the hall.

"Is everything alright, my Lord?" she asked, but Voldemort was trying to examine her in this new torchlight. She was _very_ beautiful, he realized. Paler than Bellatrix, skinnier and a bit taller-her hair blonde and straight where Bella's was black and wild, her eyes blue where Bella's were brown...but beautiful. He tried to think of her in isolation of Bellatrix, but he was having a hard time not thinking of both Black sisters simultaneously in his mind. Both of them were beautiful.

"I know you have feelings for me, Narcissa. Feelings that exceed those that should exist between master and servant," he said, but Narcissa only gasped and took a step away from him.

"No, my Lord...I'm sorry...you've got it wrong…"

"You dare call Lord Voldemort wrong?" he growled, astounded at her nerve. But tears, that mysterious substance that had for so long eluded him, sprang to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but there's something that you need to see…" she murmured as she lowered the shroud around her mind, already so much thinner than her sister's.

 _*Bellatrix Lestrange lays crying on a sleigh bed, wrapped tightly in green and white blankets and struggling to catch her breath._

" _Love who? Bella what's going on?" asks Narcissa, sitting on the bed beside her sister._

" _The Dark Lord. I need to be with him to feel complete. There's a piece of me that's missing, a part of me that has always been missing..._

" _It's only lust, Bella. You just...with Rodolphus gone, it's only natural that you have needs...You're projecting your needs onto the Dark Lord." Narcissa's tone is even and rational where Bella's is wild and desperate._

" _You think I'd be content just to sleep with him?!" Bella exclaims incredulously. "Don't you understand that wanting to sleep with him was only part of the beginning...when I was a girl and I saw him for the first time across the Slytherin Common Room as Head Boy, I was only eleven and I longed to press my lips against his. I felt innocent and pure for the first time in my life. All the things our mother wanted me to be when she told me to be more like you…"_

" _Oh, Bella…"_

" _And then when I was sixteen and recruiting new Death Eaters at Hogwarts, I was embarrassed because we were brewing love potions in Slughorn's class and it got out that mine smelled like cinnamon and licorice wands and pine forest and….Tom Riddle's shampoo...Back then, I wanted to lie with him and press our bodies together and feel him inside of me...but don't you see? He's already inside me, Cissy. He's been inside me over twenty years and I've had to live that whole time with how badly I want to create moments with him. All of them and all of him, forever. He's already inside me and I'm inside him too, whether he wants to admit it or not. He saved my life when letting me die would have been easier-when he's had every reason under the sun to hate me, three times now. That something that's there is strangling me, Cissy. But it's also what keeps me warm at night." ****_

Voldemort withdrew from Narcissa's thoughts and felt strangely empty inside. He'd been so sure, so certain that the prophecy couldn't be about her...she was too evil, too wild, too manic, too...too what exactly? What was it about her that made her anything but the most perfect candidate for Dark Lady possible? _Right...the fact that he didn't know if he loved her…_

"What's this? Voldy and Cissy having a party without me?" He would have recognized that harsh mocking tone anywhere.

Bellatrix stumbled down the hall towards them, clearly incredibly drunk, with tiny diamond spiders crawling down the side of her face from her hair that was slowly regaining its usual frizziness as the night wore on, yet somehow she looked more elegant than Voldemort ever remembered.

She tripped over her heels and fell forward, but Voldemort caught her with more ease than he'd caught Narcissa, as he heard the swamp witch's voice in his mind: " _Find the one who feels passionately, intensely, with the core of their whole being and ask them what that's like...ask them to teach you...then feel just as passionately, in your own way."_

"Voldemort…" she murmured and caught hold of his wrists.

"My most loyal," he said and then they were kissing. One of his hands found the back of her neck and he pulled her close to him like he'd tried to do with Narcissa, careful not to let his fingers get tangled in her hair. She parted his lips with her own and kissed him more deeply than he'd been kissed since he was a much younger man, pulling away only to whisper so quietly he barely heard her,

"I love you."

"I know."

"I've always loved you."

"I know."

Her lips were on his again and he succumbed to them. Everything was blurry except for her eyes-alight a seductive, fiery amber. He tried to gauge how he was feeling-and it wasn't bad. He wasn't mad at her. He hadn't _disliked_ kissing her, but he didn't know if he'd liked it yet, either. He wanted to touch her, but didn't know if it was just all the liquor talking...or if touching her would even be such a good idea, given the circumstances. He pulled breathlessly away from her and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robes, leaving her looking slightly downcast before him. He was relieved to see that Narcissa had had enough tact to walk away from them at some point and he wondered briefly how much she'd seen and who'd she tell.

"She won't say anything, my sister. And nor will I," Bellatrix said, seeming to guess his thoughts.

"It's not that I'm ashamed of what happened, Bella...in fact...well, I just don't think reactions would be favorable if it got out that I drank a bit too much and kissed one of my Death Eaters-oh Bella, don't look like that...I thought you'd be more joyful. You've gotten what you've always wanted." She was looking down at the floor with her arms by her sides, not looking at him at all.

"I _am_ joyful...really," she said, but he could tell she didn't mean it.

"Good. Now, if you don't mind given my regards to Narcissa and Lucius, I think I'm going to get going, before…"

"-anything else happens between us," she finished for him, but he'd only meant to say he needed to think on this. He didn't dislike it. He was sure of that...but then again, he hadn't been kissed like that, or close to another person in an intimate way, in a long time...and he wanted to think about what it all meant to him.

"We can pretend neither of us remember this if you want," she said coldly. He didn't know if he loved her, but he did know he didn't want her to be upset. His chest constricted, seeing her like this. But he didn't know what to say, so he settled on the truth.

"Yes, that might be best..not permanently...just while I figure things out."

 **A/N: After writing that chapter, I have only one thing to say: You've done your waiting. Ten chapters of it. Hopefully not in Azkaban. But it's Bellamort time, b*tches!**


	11. Chapter 11: Blue Lamp

**Chapter 11: Blue Lamp**

 **A/N: Hi. Here's another chapter. Because I'm totally on a roll with this...bringing it back into the context of HPDH for a little bit (with a few tweaks for the purposes of the story) and then I think our boy Voldy owes our girl Bellatrix a lot of explanations about, well, pretty much everything-so stay tuned!**

 **~SunDance**

 **(Foldemort)**

October became November became December seemingly overnight, in an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of snow, falling leaves and sheets of sleek black ice. Christmas was upon them before they knew it, and Voldemort still had not figured out how to properly approach Bellatrix about the prophecy, located the Elder Wand or caught up with Harry Potter and everything was leading him to continue skipping sleep and meals whenever possible.

On the evening of Christmas Eve, Voldemort was quite aware that much of the rest of the world (including his own Death Eaters) were celebrating in their own ways…eating dinner, spending time with family, attending religious ceremonies...or even (and most likely in the case of the Death Eaters) just enjoying a drink or five at the pub.

He, Voldemort, however, was waiting. He stood imperiusly over a glass case, rounded at the top and set over a spindly circle-shaped end table. The glass case, misty with fog, contained nothing but a rose-redder than blood, with thorns greener than the emeralds on Slytherin's locket-though the rose was slowly dying. 10 of its petals lay now, shriveled like raisins, at the base of the case, and it was on these that Voldemort had trained his eyes while he waited.

He'd spent weeks on his most recent plan and tonight was the night, he was sure. All the threads of his current problems-the prophecy, the Elder Wand, Harry Potter-were dangerously close to fraying away beyond his reach, he feared, but tonight...Everything was going to come together. It all started with a vision-like the ones he often got when he stayed awake for too long. His body fell asleep while his mind remained alert, focused, concentrated on the connection it shared with Harry Potter's.

It came in flashes. Two teenagers in a magical tent doing none of the things typical of two teenagers in a magical tent. Instead, they'd spent weeks poring over books, giving Voldemort nothing tangible to go off of...until one night. He'd been sitting in the library, poring over books of his own, all about wand lore and the old wandmaker called Gregorovitch. When suddenly, he heard, in his mind, a voice: " _Hermione? I've been thinking. I want to go to Godric's Hollow."_ And everything fell into place from there. Of course the boy would want to return to the place where his parents died and were buried-it was the holiday time after all and Potter had long proved himself dangerously sentimental for his own good. And he had connections to Godric's Hollow, himself. After all, the manor that Bellatrix Lestrange had inherited from her dead husband sat only three blocks from the memorial site for the Potters. But how was he going to get Potter and his girlfriend, who would surely arrive disguised, into Lestrange Manor? If he put his own disguises in place, of course…

And that was how Voldemort got to be waiting by the rose on Christmas Eve, looking into the mind of another like it was a Pensieve. And not just any other. He shut his eyes and saw through slit-like eyes not unlike his own, everything that Nagini saw through the rotting corpse of Bathilda Bagshot, long-time Godric's Hollow resident, renaimated like an Inferius through the snake's careful movements as she too, waited, hidden, inside the body.

" _Harry, stop."_

" _What's wrong?"_

" _There's someone there. Someone's watching us. I can tell. There; over by_

 _the bushes."_

Nagini had spotted them. Two foolishly disguised Muggles standing over the Potter grave...it didn't even take the heightened sense of awareness of a snake to know who they really were.

"Show yourself to them," he willed Nagini in his mind and he could feel the nod that indicated to him that the snake had heard, as much as if it were his own head nodding. She followed them to the place where Voldemort had killed James and Lily Potter a little over sixteen years ago. He watched them, through the eyes of the snake, still disguised as two middle-aged Muggles who shouldn't even be able to see that which they were staring at, transfixed: the burnt out shell of a little cottage. Feeling assured, Voldemort gave Nagini the go-ahead and withdrew from her mind, settling back into his own present reality, in the West Wing of Slytherin's Manor, standing over the enchanted rose.

An eternity seemed to pass. Voldemort paced his study, past the onyx bust of Salazar Slytherin, with its gleaming malachite eyes. Past the chess set that disguised his Pensieve, past the row of bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and dark objects. Occasionally, he picked one of these things up off a bookshelf-a skull or an eye or a tooth-only to set them down again just as absently.

And then just when he thought he couldn't take the waiting anymore, something in him burned like hot coals. Nagini had led them into Lestrange Manor. She had the boy.

"Hold him!" Voldemort barked into her mind and he knew that she would obey.

When Voldemort apparated into the bedroom, all he could see was smoke and ash. But he ran, bony white fingers outstretched to the balding muggle man and the tiny plump woman he knew to be over in the corner by the dressing table.

"CONFRINGO!" shouted the girl and Voldemort saw them twist away, disapparating away from the explosive blast that had come from the mudblood girl's wand. Tiny shards of glass seared his skin as he grabbed Nagini and flew through the window to escape the explosion. He landed squarely on the ground in front of the manor just in time to see its upper right quadrant go up in flames and charred rubble. The snake seethed as it tried to slither away from him. The boy had escaped. _Again._

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" Voldemort groaned when he heard her voice. The voice of the woman he'd gotten drunk and kissed at the Halloween Ball two months ago and had mostly ignored since. But by now he did owe her an explanation or twenty about why he was lying on the pavement in front of her home, half-destroyed and burning. But not here...not where they were so exposed. With a flick of his wand, he summoned her towards him and with one hand still gripping Nagini's tail, he apparated them away with him.

 **(Bellatrix)**

As the Red Room of Slytherin's Manor spun into view, a very confused Bellatrix Lestrange stumbled and fell over the dark wood floor. She wasn't even angry...just wanted answers. After kissing her at the Ball and then not speaking to her any more than casual formalities for the past two months, she'd come home from Christmas Eve dinner at Narcissa's to find the Dark Lord sprawled out in front of her house after evidently blowing half of it up...okay, maybe she was angry. But he wasn't saying anything at all...just sitting on the loveseat and looking at the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Bella."

"Wh...what?" She felt a lot like she did the night he'd first told her she could call him Voldemort-like maybe she hadn't heard him correctly. Did the Dark Lord just... _apologize?_

"I'm sorry, there's so much I should have told you sooner…You may come and sit by me, if you wish." It broke her heart to see him like this...so disappointed, so defeated. Sighing at how quickly her anger with him had abated (again!) she strode across the room and sat down beside him on the loveseat.

"Well, if you've something to tell me, now's as good a time as any...but maybe you could start by telling me what exactly happened tonight-and why you...well, why my half my house exploded." She tried to maintain a gentle entirely unaccusatory tone, while still demanding the explanation she thought she'd more than earned.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," he muttered. "Potter's girlfriend cast Confringo at me as they were disapparating."

"Potter! In Godric's Hollow? In my house?!" Bellatrix couldn't help shrieking in her disbelief.

"He was visiting his parents' graves...and I had a disguised Nagini lead him into Lestrange Manor and hold him there…"

"How did Nagini get into Godric's Hollow? And more importantly...how did she get into my home?"

"She was there because I stationed her there," Voldemort said quietly, still not looking her in the eye.

"Why did-"

"They escaped again, Bellatrix. They got away. I failed. Again," he interjected. First an apology and then an admission of failure? What had gotten into him lately? She put an arm around his back and beckoned him closer to her. He obliged, and she wasn't as astonished as she normally would have been. The night was weird enough already.

"You're not well, my Lord. Not well at all...to be talking like this," she said and placed the back of the arm that was not around his back against his forehead, which fortunately felt as cold as ever.

"Perhaps not. I've had a lot on my mind." Bellatrix nodded in understanding.

"I know." But then something curious happened-Voldemort sat up straighter and looked directly at her, his mouth cracking into something oddly reminiscent of...a smile?

"Would you like for me to tell you about it?"

"You can-"

"No, I'm asking you if you want me to."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

 **(Moldemort)**

"Tonight was supposed to be the night everything came together-the night I was so _sure-_ surer than I've been about anything in a long time, that I would have everything. But I was wrong. I have nothing…"

"That's not true, my Lord. You know that's not true. You have me...you've….always had me."

"Oh, Bellatrix…" Sometimes he envied her blind trust in him. He watched her for a moment, blinking down at him as the shiny, flat top of his head rested against her warm shoulder. It was then that he decided not to envy her blind trust, but imitate. Tonight, he would try to tell her everything.

"I've had about three projects going for me as of late. The first and most pressing lies in a new prophecy made by Sybil Trelawney almost six months ago now…"

Reluctantly, he sat up straight again and pulled Bellatrix's head down into his lap so that she was laying across him and facing the ceiling instead of continously looking him so directly in the eyes. It didn't feel wrong to have her there, but just like with the kiss, he didn't know what it was supposed to be like to "feel right." He'd never known what it was supposed to feel like to feel happy about anything.

"Without going into too much detail, I feel confident in my ability to relay to you that there's going to be a battle very significant to our side this coming May and my fate will rest almost entirely in the hands of…" He'd almost said _in the hands of another_...but felt the need to reword it to her. "...in the hands of my ability to feel something."

"Feel what?" she asked, her tone curious rather than threatening.

"Anything."

"What?"

"Anything," he repeated. "I need to be able to experience the whole range of human emotions by five months from now…" To his frustration, she laughed. He looked down at her there, still lying with her head in his lap and her feet curled over the side of the loveseat, almost cat-like, and grinning up at him.

"I'm sorry, my Lord...I'm not laughing _at_ you...I'm laughing because you can already experience emotions...I've seen you angry loads of times." Yes. She'd seen him in probably the only two states he'd ever found himself in since he'd been born-angry and not angry. Meanwhile, he'd seen her angry, but he'd also seen her laugh. Seen her cry. Seen her love.

"Anything else? Have you seen me express any emotion other than anger?"

"Well...there was…" She trailed off, seemingly wracking her memory for specific instances as her grin began to fade away.

"Exactly. You, and the rest of the world, have known only two Voldemorts. Calm, entirely impassive Voldemort and angry Voldemort. And I have less than five months left to change that." Madam Rhiannon had said he needed a teacher. And after months of trying to teach himself to feel through books and...though he'd never admit it, Harry Potter's thoughts, a teacher might be his last hope...and he just wasn't sure if Bellatrix was the right candidate for the job. Especially if she was the lover the prophecy referred to...he couldn't take any risks with her, especially not any _emotional_ risks that could potentially drive her away before the end of May.

"The second thing I've had on my mind," he said, abruptly changing the uncomfortable subject, "has been an object I until only recently believed to be nothing more than a work of fantasy in a story for children...You've read the Tales of the Beedle the Bard, I'm sure, haven't you, Bella?"

"Of course I have. I was practically raised on them."

"Then you remember the Tale of the Three Brothers?"

" _There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding_

 _road at twilight—"_ she began, but he didn't need her to recite the story. He too, now knew it by heart.

"Yes. The very same. You'll remember then, what Death gifted the eldest brother in the tale?" he prompted and Bellatrix smiled knowingly.

" _...The oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more_

 _powerful than any in existence…"_

"Right. Death is said to have fashioned the wand himself, out of wood from an Elder tree...the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick..." Her eyes widened.

"My Lord...you're not saying…"

"It's real, Bella. It's real and I've come very close to finding it." Without really thinking, he took one of her hands in one of his own and gave it a squeeze.

"But if it's real...if you could find the Elder Wand...no one could ever defeat you. You'd be invincible."

"Exactly...but though I'm certain of the one of the most recent owners of the Elder Wand, I only know what he looks like. I don't know his name." In the only memory Voldemort had seen of potentially the last holder of the wand, he was young and blond and merry...but that would have been years ago and the man certainly wouldn't be young and blond and merry anymore-if he were still alive at all.

"You'll figure it out, I know it...you've just got to get your confidence back," said Bellatrix in a faint breathy voice like she was about to fall asleep.

"If you're tired we can continue this conversation another day-"

"No! No! I'm fine...go on...you said you had three projects. What's the third one?" Bellatrix asked anxiously. She picked up her head off his lap and sat up, cross-legged next to him on the loveseat, probably in an attempt to look perky and alert.

"Have you ever heard of a Horcrux, Bella?" he asked. He'd expected it to be more awkward than it actually was, speaking about Horcruxes to her when he hadn't ever told anyone about his...creations before.

"Of course. I was always best in my year at Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts...not because I was ever a good student, but because I knew more about the Dark Arts than anyone else." She smirked and he tried to smirk back at her by mirroring the shape of her own mouth, but he didn't know if it worked out. "My Lord...Voldemort...you made a Horcrux, didn't you? Oh I knew it...well, I suspected it from the night you told me I'd never saved you because your life was never in any real danger."

"You're very bright, Bellatrix...but what if I told you that I'd made not one Horcrux, but seven." Her jaw dropped as he anticipated it would, not because it meant he'd killed seven people (he knew she'd killed far more than seven people in her own lifetime) but because of the pain and lack of humanity associated with splitting one's soul into two pieces, let alone seven.

"But...you're so...so human...no offense of course."

"None taken," he said. _So human..._ an odd description for a mass murdering Dark Lord who'd spent thirteen years without a body only to be reincarnated with snake organs...but coming from her, he knew to be the most thoughtful compliment she could give...or the biggest insult, depending on the situation. "All notions of my humanity aside, I'm concerned that before he died, Albus Dumbledore had the same suspicions you did regarding Horcruxes and I...and that possibly, he may have passed his suspicions onto the Potter boy." Bellatrix scoffed.

"Well, I hardly think a couple of seventeen year olds could destroy even one Horcrux, let alone seven…"

"But Bella, they already have. When they were twelve. Though I doubt they realized it at the time…" He thought back to another night when the Potter boy had evaded him, by stabbing his diary Horcrux and carefully preserved memory of his seventeen year old self, with a basilisk fang, one of the only known weapons against a Horcrux.

"Well, you still have six left. That's good, right? And they're probably hard to find objects, knowing you..."

"Yes. And as a matter of fact, until very recently, I'd been keeping one of my Horcruxes in your own home in Godric's Hollow. I've since relocated it, however, and am asking you now to oblige me in placing it in a location history has deemed most safe-" Bellatrix's face contorted into a peculiar expression and put an arm around her, dragging her back over to him from her perch on the other side of the sofa. He had to be sure he could trust her-that she was with him, mentally and physically. Trust hadn't exactly done Voldemort well in the past, after all. He knew she was wracking her mind trying to think of which object she'd walked past since she got out of Azkaban had secretly been a Horcrux the whole time.

"What is it and where are you moving it?"

"A tiny golden cup. One you've probably taken shots out of. And I intend to move it to Gringotts Bank. Into your vault." The idea that Bellatrix had probably unknowingly taken shots out of a piece of his soul was odd and he would rather not dwell on it for any longer than he had to.

"My Lord…"

"If you do not wish to help me-"

"No! No! Of course! I'll take it tomorrow. I'm just...surprised is all...and honored. Deeply honored that you would entrust me with-"

"Part of my soul," he finished for her. "Because you're the only person in the world I trust to keep it secure for me."

"You are too kind to me, my Lord." Kind? Was this what it felt like to be kind? She was smiling and knowing he put that smile there made him feel warm in the cheeks, right around where his nose used to be. Could one...feel kind?

"Bellatrix, please. When we are alone together like this...not as master and servant, but as friends, I would prefer you call me Voldemort."

"Well, Voldemort, thank you for confiding so much in me. It means a lot. Truly."

And then it happened. He felt himself smile. And he wasn't forcing it or making fun of or mocking anyone...he was smiling of his own accord because she was happy...and then he wanted her head to be against his shoulder again. He didn't know why he wanted it...only that something inside him had awoken and would not be satiated until the two of them were touching again. He couldn't explain it and he didn't want to...so he succumbed and tightened his arm around her, hoping she would take the hint. She didn't.

"Well if you'll recall, I had a reason for telling you," he said, loosening his grip on her midsection. "A couple of months ago, you asked me a question and you've yet to receive an answer from me. You asked me why I would need to ask a favor of you."

"Oh...Yes, I remember...but really, that was so long ago...don't think I still expect an answer."

"But you shall have one. And not even for your sake, but for mine. You see-this favor, I may need it from you now more than ever."

"You...need...something...from me?" She asked, drawing out every word with long pauses between them in what he knew to be her shock.

"Those memories…" he went on. "Those memories Narcissa showed me the night of the Halloween Ball...were they real? Was that really how you felt...about me?" She bit down on her lower lip and averted her eyes. He knew why-it was the first time either of them had spoken to each other about what had happened between them at the Halloween Ball. He kissed her and she said " _I love you,"_ so effortlessly, without tripping over the word 'love.'

"Yes...of course they we were real...but why would my sister show you that? She swore to me she wouldn't…"

"Nevermind the circumstances...if that's truly how you feel..then I need you to teach me."

"Teach you what, Voldemort?"

"How to feel like that."

Somewhere in the Manor, a clock chimed midnight.

"Merry Christmas," Bellatrix whispered, pushing her face into the crook of his neck. In all the commotion of the evening, he'd quite forgotten about Christmas. Strange...that his first Christmas not spent alone in his life, would be spent with Bellatrix Lestrange….stranger still, that he had no desire to complain about it.

 **A/N: Hmm...so voldy has FINALLY admitted to Bella that he needs her to teach him how to love pretty quickly...AND acknowledged that he might be starting to return her feelings for him...AND part of her home (that part that conveniently contains her bedroom) has been destroyed...I WONDER WHERE SHE'LL LIVE NOW? :P ;)**


	12. Chapter 12: Song as Old as Rhyme

**Chapter 12: A Song as Old as Rhyme**

 **A/N: Hi, my dears! I'm sorry for not updating sooner, but I was traveling for my cousin's wedding over the weekend and everything's been crazy, but the good news is that:**

 **1) I have two new chapters for you today and plan to finish the last four chapters of the story within the week**

 **2) My cousin's wedding gave me SO MANY IDEAS for a possible sequel to this story involving a wedding between two certain characters I won't name here bc spoiler alert depending on which potential ending for the current story I choose to go with :P**

 **3) After reading some of my past reviews, I tried to leave you with at least a couple good cute moments in this chapter, but I didn't want to make it all overwhelmingly fluffy since I don't think Bella or Voldy would ever be like that**

 **I don't know how many people still read this story, but if you do, then I hope you enjoy it and thanks for sticking it out with me!**

 **~SunDance~**

 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix stirred, shifting her weight from one side to the other as she opened her eyes. She became immediately conscious of two things:

She felt overwhelmingly greasy and slightly sore in that way one only feels after falling asleep unexpectedly somewhere that isn't a bed and

That her body was coiled around something soft and surprisingly warm, and that soft warm thing was Voldemort.

She was caught in a strange bind because while she wanted to leave before he could yell at her for falling asleep on top of him (or notice her matted hair and yesterday's makeup caked over her sticky face), she was afraid that if she moved, she would wake him as she didn't imagine the Dark Lord could be a heavy sleeper. She was spooning him from behind now, so if she could just reach over him and get her wand off the coffee table, she could apparate out of the Red Room without much effort...but could she apparate? She knew no one could apparate in, but she didn't know if Voldemort had placed similar restrictions on leaving the Manor. Regardless, it was worth a shot.

She wrapped her legs more tightly around Voldemort's and stretched over his sleeping form to get her wand. It was barely within reach, so she caught hold of the edge of the coffee table with her fingertips and tried to pull it closer, but the result was that she lost her balance, tumbled over Voldemort, smacked her head against the coffee table and sent Voldemort falling to the floor with her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as pain seared through her forehead and as she heard a low groan emit from Voldemort, she considered trying to apparate away in her humiliation, right then and there.

"Bella?"

"...My Lord-I-"

"...haven't always been so graceful?" he offered and to her surprise, he pulled himself to his feet and then extended a hand to where Bellatrix still sat on the floor, blushing as red as the walls of the room. But she coudn't take it.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to stay the night," she murmured, still waiting for wrath that wasn't yet coming.

"I don't think either of us meant to fall asleep so uncomfortably. But as it is…"

"...And now I've intruded on your Christmas!"

"What I was going to say was now you're here, we might as well have breakfast. I don't know about you, but I find myself famished." Bellatrix stopped talking and looked up at him, not quite believing her ears. Breakfast...with Voldemort? Then she remembered how awful she looked. She hadn't dared catch her reflection in the mirror on the opposing wall, but she could feel the places her makeup had melted into slimy gobs from the heat of the fire. She never wanted him to see her anything but beautiful, whatever that even meant.

"I can't possibly eat with you like this...I look like a disaster."

"Ah. Well you freshen up. I'll take care of breakfast."

"Can you cook?"

"We're about to find out." Smirking at what may have been the Dark Lord's attempt at a joke, Bellatrix momentarily forgot to be embarrassed and finally let him help her to her feet.

"Elle!" he called.

"Elle?"

"That daft mirror," he replied and Bellatrix nodded in understanding, knowing instantly which mirror he was talking about. _So it did have a name..._ but wait...something wasn't adding up.

"I thought that mirror was in the small dining room."

"I can call Elle into any mirror in the house," he said and gestured to the large mirror that took up the entire back wall of the Red Room-the very same one Bellatrix was trying to avoid looking into. Her stomach churned when she heard a familar cool female voice echo through the room.

" _You called me, my Lord?"_ The voice purred, emnating now from the large mirror. Bellatrix felt herself begin to seethe. Why trust that mirror for anything when it had once been responsible for getting her kicked out of this very home.

"You'll remember Bellatrix, of course," said Voldemort, who seemed to be thinking along those same lines.

" _Of course. How could I forget our poor damsel in a dinner dress?"_ Bellatrix drew her wand and pointed it at the mirror.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, but one more word out of that thing and I'll smash it to pieces!"

"Calm yourselves, both of you," said Voldemort, striding to put himself between Bellatrix and the mirror.

"Elle. You are to take Bellatrix to the ground floor powder room and ONLY the ground floor powder room-are we clear?"

" _Yes, my Lord,"_ replied the mirror, though Bellatrix thought she could detect a note of dejection in her tone.

"And Bellatrix, I shall be down to fetch you in an hour's time for breakfast."

As per Voldemort's strict instructions, the mirror did reveal to Bellatrix a passageway that led her directly to a powder room characterized by the same rushing water sound as Bellatrix remembered from the room she'd stayed in on her first visit to Slytherin Manor and she strongly suspected that she was standing in that room's adjoining master bath, an assumption that was supported by a very familar stone-tiled wall.

She turned back to the mirror, situated now over the sink in a dark granite frame.

"Oh get out. I know you're still there and I assure you I'm not getting a shower with you going on in the background."

" _I should warn you...for those who've gotten themselves involved with the Dark Lord in the way that you are begininng to….it hasn't ended well at all,"_ she said, her voice back to all its haughtiness and without any of the sugar she'd coated it with to address Voldemort.

"Involved with-who else has he been involved with?"

" _I thought you said you wanted me to go? Anyway, enjoy your bath!"_

 **(BOLDemort-FULL OF BOLD, SPICY FLAVOR!)**

Voldemort stood outside the door to the underwater guest room, preparing to retrieve Bellatrix for their late breakfast. If anyone had told him this time last year that he'd been spending his next Christmas with Bellatrix Lestrange, he might have blasted them dead. But now it was...dare he think it...almost a natural progression of events. He thought back to waking up next to her that morning-well, almost next to her...on the floor, after she'd knocked them off the couch, but regardless...he didn't think much of that. Instead, his especially attune memory had decided to capture the way she'd looked up at him when he offered to help her to her feet-her face flushed with color, her hair, stuck haphazardly to her face and sweaty from sleeping by the fire-Bellatrix. _His Bellatrix._ Real. Human. Naturally...beautiful.

He took a deep breath and rapped three times on the polished oak door.

"Bellatrix?"

If he thought she'd looked lovely that morning, he was in no way prepared for the Bellatrix who opened the door and stood before him. The Artistic Armoire had evidently exchanged her more formal black dress for a knee-length sweater that looked like it was made of Nagini-scales. She was wearing it over Muggle attire black pants tucked into tall black leather boots and he was impressed by how different she looked just from the morning. Voldemort found himself wondering if he should have chosen something a bit more festive than his usual set of black robes for the day, but then second-guessed himself, remembering that it was only Bellatrix, only breakfast and only Christmas-a holiday that untl today, he'd never set much store by celebrating.

As he led Bellatrix up to the small dining room (the same place they'd tried to have dinner in not too long ago) he realized just how little of the Manor she'd actually seen-only four rooms and a few hallways, really. Maybe he'd tour her around a little more later on. It was Christmas Day after all, and not like he could just turn her out after breakfast. They sat down at the dark wood table and he gave his wand a flourish, conjuring the food he'd already prepared in the kitchen and laying it out before them on silver and gold platters. Stacks of waffles, buttered and stacked six high, crystal vats oozing syrup, jam, orange juice and hot black coffee. Bowls of sausage patties and biscuits dyed red and green for the occasion, and to finish it off, a plate of hot apple tart.

"You made _all_ this yourself?"

Voldemort nodded sheepishly. She acted so impressed...but it wasn't like he didn't have magic to help.

"Don't you have house elves to do this for you?" asked Bellatrix, glancing left to right as if expecting them to pop out from the shadows.

"No. Can't trust them."

"So you do ALL your own housework? In this big place?" He couldn't help but scoff at her disbelief. Of course, she had grown up a Black and the idea of doing anything without the aid of servants must have seemed as foreign to her as the idea of doing anything _with_ servants seemed to him.

"Bella, you forget I grew up in a Muggle orphanage. I spent the first eleven years of my life doing housework...without magic."

"Oh..I'm sorry-I didn't think, It was just hard to imagine you doing all this by yourself...but I shouldn't have assumed-" She stammered and set down her glass of orange juice. He placed a hand on top of hers, closing around her fingers closing around the stem of the glass.

"Bellatrix, you've known me thirty years...so tell me, why do you still get nervous around me?"

"I'm not nervous!" she exclaimed, but whether accidentally or on purpose, she'd loosened the shield around her mind, and he risked a quick peek at her thoughts.

 _Bellatrix is standing in the dining room of Malfoy Manor in her dress from Christmas Eve night._

 _Narcissa and a house elf are setting the table for dinner and Voldemort, from his position as an onlooker into the memory, counts four places-one each for Narcissa, Lucius, Draco and Bellatrix, who is nowhere near the table, but instead standing up by the window, looking out at the Malfoys' enchanted peacocks trudging through the still-falling snow. She didn't seem to notice Narcissa walk up behind her and lay a hand on one of her shoulders._

" _What's eating at you, Bella?"_

" _Don't you ever get sick of having me here, year after year?"_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _Well, on Christmas I don't feel so bad because you invite everyone...all the Death Eaters...but don't you ever want to spend Christmas Eve just your family?" Narcissa looked surprised._

" _You are my family."_

" _You know what I mean." Immediate family, he reasoned easily, wondering if Narcissa would catch on. She frowned._

" _But with Mum and Dad gone and Andromeda...being...you know...you're the only family I have left aside from Lucius and Draco."_

" _Maybe I just feel bad for being jealous. You know I've always wanted what you have."_

" _Oh Bella, I understand it must be hard for you-your first Christmas without Rodolphus." Bellatrix cackled loudly in response and tossed Narcissa's hand off her shoulder._

" _It's not that and you know it."_

" _Bella," Narcissa said in a warning tone. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking...that you wish you could be spending the holidays with the Dark Lord-well, you know how the old saying goes-it's dangerous to dwell on dreams…"_

" _-and forget to live," Bellatrix finished and the look on her face told Voldemort that what Narcissa suspected was exactly what Bella was thinking about. ***_

He withdrew from her thoughts and studied her curiously.

"Anyone ever tell you to be careful for what you wished for, Bella?"

"W..what?" she squeaked, instantly turning a bright shade of pink in the cheeks. Neither one of them said anything for a good while as they went on with eating their breakfast. Only after slicing herself a piece of the apple tart for dessert did Bellatrix finally say something.

"So...What do you normally do on Christmas?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary...yourself?" he replied easily as he tried to remember the last time he even acknowledged Christmas.

"Sometimes I spend it with the Malfoys, but Rodolphus and I would always go over later in the day after they'd finished opening their presents."

"Well, what do you want to do today?"

She shrugged, and he knew she was still struggling to wrap her head around the fact that this was happening and they were spending Christmas together, just the two of them. Voldemort remembered how little of the Manor she had seen and instantly thought of the perfect place to take her.

"I was thinking I would take you on a tour of the winter gardens, but we'll have to get you properly equipped, of course."

"...equipped?" she asked quizzically.

"It's rather cold outside."

"Oh. Right."

He flicked his wand in the direction of their breakfast dishes, vanishing them in an instant. Then, he turned his wand on her and in another flourish, conjured a thick, fur-lined black cloak around her shoulders, with silver fastenings and red buttons down the front. He considered getting something warmer for himself, but he rarely ever got cold or responded to temperature changes at all.

 **(Bellatrix)**

The winter garden stretched out before them, picturesque and magnificent. Bellatrix had seen few things so beautiful in her life. The day itself was completely overcast and the lack of light in contrast with the thickly fallen snow seemed to cast everything in a haunting grayscale. They pushed their way through the snow down what Voldemort insisted was a path, surrounded on both sides by a mixture of dead bracken-ridden trees and thick, snow-laden pines until they reached an open clearing dotted with silver statues.

"It looks like a graveyard," she remarked. "But not in a bad way at all."

"You're very astute," said Voldemort and arm interlaced with hers, he lead her down his invisible path past all sorts of statues-wizards and witches in gem-speckled cloaks, weeping angels with stone-carved wings , beastly creatures with diamond eyes-until they came to an imposing and perfectly rectangular stone structure surrounded by frozen fountains. Dotted across the front in chipped emeralds, rested the words:

 _Exitus Acta Probat_

"The result validates the deeds," Voldemort said over her shoulder. "This garden has been called, in the history books, Slytherin's Sleeping City."

"Is this...where he'd buried, then?"

"His tomb? Yes." All the more enchanted, Bellatrix dared move closer. She lifted the hem of her cloak to step around the fountains and ran her index finger over the inscription: _The result validates the deeds..._ It was like it was written there for Voldemort, for the war. Still keeping one hand resting on the tomb, she walked around to the other side, where she was greeted by a sizable bust of the reknowned Hogwarts founder.

She shivered, but not from the cold. Voldemort joined her by the bust and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Bellatrix nodded.

"Yes...I was just thinking...Did you make anything of Slytherin's into a Horcrux?" Voldemort's face crinkled a bit and she knew he was trying to determine whether he could trust her.

"You already told me about a diary and a cup...but I know there are five others," she reminded him.

"Very well. Yes. Slytherin had a locket meant for a lover. Once it came into...my possession, I made it into a Horcrux to honor my connection to him as well as his and my...apparent similarity."

"Slytherin had a lover?" Belatrix asked.

They walked past the tomb and back through the statue garden, once more arm-in-arm.

"Do you purposely choose to ask me questions to which I have no answer?"

"You brought it up…"

"Because you asked me about the locket."Bellatrix rolled her eyes and wandered away from Voldemort, knowing he wasn't going to give her a clear answer. But then she didn't know what came over her. She saw a little mound of snow, so perfect and untouched and frosted over with just enough ice to be compact, but not too hard...and she thought back to afternoons as a child when she and Cissy and Andromeda would run outside, packing snowballs in their hands and throwing them at each other...and now the Dark Lord was standing just the ideal distance away and looking off in the other direction, lost in his thoughts.

She packed the snowball more tightly in her hands and then pelted it at him, knocking him in the back of the neck with a small explosion of ice and snow.

"Why did you throw that at me, Bella?" The look on his face was almost pitiable.

"My Lord...don't tell me you've never had a snowball fight before?"

"Snowball...fight?" He genuinely looked confused and Bellatrix relished in knowing about something he didn't for once.

"Yeah, you roll them up like I did and throw them-"

"At each other."

"Yes."

"Well, perhaps you could demonstrate once more how to make one of these...snowballs, with that mound of snow over there-"

No sooner had she turned her back when what was unmistakeably a ball of snow hit her square in the center of her back.

"Beginner's luck," he shrugged.

"Oh, it's on!"

 **(Voldemort)**

He and Bellatrix spent the better part of the afternoon throwing snowballs at each other and Voldemort had to come to terms with the fact that he didn't resent the activity.

Only after he'd chased her to the top of a very large hill with a flying snow dragon did she finally seem to run out of energy. She clutched her stomach as she stopped to catch her breath.

" _Accio!"_ he shouted at the snow and pointed his wand towards it, forming another large snow dragon by magic and then levitating it towards her, but Bellatrix held her hand out in front of her in a 'stop' gesture.

"No more...not now...let's...break," she panted and Voldemort let the snow dragon fall back to the ground in his agreement. When he looked up again, however, Bellatrix was nowhere to be seen.

"Bella?" Then his blood froze as he heard her scream. "Bella!"

He peered over the side of the hill in the direction of the screams and he saw her, crumpled in a heap at the bottom-unmoving. No longer screaming. Voldemort sat down in the spot where she'd slipped and slid down the hill towards her, not thinking about the cold searing through his wet-through robes or the chinks of ice flying into his eyes. The only thing that mattered in those seconds was her- _what if something happened to her? Did he care? Could he ever forgive himself?_ Then she screamed again...but as he neared her, he realized she was not screaming...but howling with laughter like she did when she tortured people.

"Bellatrix!" he exclaimed and she caught him in her arms before he crashed into her. "I thought...I thought you were...why are you _laughing?!"_ he demanded.

"You have absolutely no idea how fucking hilarious it was to see you sledding down a hill! And you had this determined look on your face too, like-"

"I thought you were dead! One minute you were at the top of the hill and the next you were…" he couldn't even finish the thought.

"Oh...Voldemort...were you... _worried_ about _me_?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," he muttered under his breath, but then she caught his eye and started laughing again, tilting her head all the way back so he could really notice all the snow in her hair falling everywhere like she had dandruff...and then Voldemort was laughing, too. Or at least he thought he might have been. Something constricted in his stomach and cheeks at exactly the same time and then his throat and mouth were all full of air and turning into long vowel sounds somewhere between the inside of his mouth and the outside like " _eeh-eeh-eeh."_ But then Bellatrix stopped laughing and stared at him with raised eyebrows and an unmistakeable grin.

"What?"

"You tell me."

"Why are you staring at me?"

"Because we haven't even started our lessons yet and you've already shown me you can feel happiness."


	13. Chapter 13: Moonlight Dreams

**Chapter 13: Moonlight Dreams**

 **A/N:** Hi! As promised, here's the second update for today! It's short, but relevant to their story! Also, I'm sorry about the formatting-I've been writing all my updates in google docs where they look exactly how I want them to look and then I've been copying and pasting the updates into the document manager (where they still look normally formatted and spaced) but I didn't realize how crazy messed up the chapters look on the site until I clicked the 'preview' link from my computer. I'm not sure how to fix it, but in the future I'm going to try copying my updates into Word and then uploading them as files instead of copy/pasting to see if that fixes it. Again, I'm sorry about all the eye sores!

~SunDance

 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix had been living with Voldemort at Slytherin Manor for a little over a month now...It hadn't been a declared thing, really. At least, not at first. It was about a week after her initial arrival that she was still sleeping in the underground guest room (he had facilitated a plan that blew up her bedroom, after all) and he'd approached her eating breakfast in the small dining room.

" _You know you can stay if you'd like…"_

" _Stay where?"_

" _Here. Living here."_

It happened just like that, and they hadn't spoken a word of it since. In fact, they hadn't spoken much about anything. He rose far earlier than she did (if he slept at all) and left the Manor by the time she woke up and returned late in the night usually long after she came back from wherever she'd spent the day. He also hadn't held a single Death Eater meeting, which meant he was entirely occupied with something far more pressing.

The first time they were both _home_ (it was still weird to her to think that Voldemort's home was now her home also) since the holidays came one Sunday afternoon towards the end of January. Bellatrix was sitting on the loveseat in the Red Room (which was very quickly becoming her favorite room in the manor) with her feet up on a matching ottoman she'd conjured, sipping at a cup of ginger root tea and reading _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore,_ looking for any clue that the old man knew anything about Voldemort's horcruxes before Snape killed him. She was focused on a fascinating chapter about Dumbledore's rumored love affair with Gellert Grindelwald, the second darkest wizard in Europe before Voldemort, when Voldemort himself strode into the room looking tired, but less frustrated than she knew he'd been in weeks. He came to stand behind the sofa and placed both his hands on her shoulders as he'd developed a habit of doing over the holiday time.

"Bellatrix, what are you read-wait. Who is that?"

"Who is who?"

"That man! That photo...In your book!"

"Why, that's Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore. They dated, you know...when they were just out of school," she said nonchalantly, but Voldemort did not seem to care about Dumbledore's relationship history. Or he cared a whole lot, because he snatched the book out of her hands, kissed her square on the lips and strode from the room with the book tucked under his arm.

And then he was near-absent from the Manor for another week.

It was the first Tuesday in February the next time she saw him. She was taking a salt bath when she felt the Dark Mark burn on her left forearm. Groaning, she stepped out of the hot water and wrapped herself in towels before pressing the mark with her fingertips and trying to hear him in her mind telling her where he was.

 _Red Room._

Right. After checking that the towels around her were firmly in place, she headed upstairs to find out why he'd called her so suddenly. As she entered the room, she had to admit she was expecting something more than the Dark Lord standing by the fireplace like nothing was out of the usual. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps against the hardwood floor and then grimaced.

"What're you-"

"I was in the bath."

"Oh. My...apologies," he said rather awkwardly and she loosened her grip on the towels ever so slightly, hoping he was checking her out.

"Accepted. Now, you summoned me inside our own…residence ( she still couldn't bring herself to say 'home' out loud) so it must be important."

"It is...and let me tell you, or maybe it would be better if I showed you..." _Showed_ her? Then he withdrew something from the side pocket of his robes-a wand-and held it out to her for inspection. She crept closer to it, not believing...it couldn't be...

"That's not…"

"But it is. The Elder Wand-is mine." His face cracked into what she was convinced was Voldemort's way of smiling, though she knew he thought otherwise.

"But where did you-"

"That old fool Dumbledore's tomb," he interrupted. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so close to...excited...since she'd known him and she remained resolute on her position that he did indeed have emotions, he just didn't know what to call them. "I was able to deduce enough from that book you were reading that Dumbledore won the wand from Grindelwald when he defeated him, becoming its next true master," Voldemort explained. "And I suppose he thought if he were buried with the wand, its power would die with it...sentimental bastard. Just like Potter."

"You _robbed Dumbledore's grave?"_

"Yes...And I never expected _you_ of all people to find it offensive."

"I don't find it offensive at all...I actually think it's brilliant!" she exclaimed, grinning. "But you know what we have to do now, right?" He looked genuinely perplexed, so she continued on. "I think we should get started on your lessons."

"My what?"

"You invited me to stay here to teach you. Now it's been almost a month since you mentioned it and if this battle really is coming in May, then we're running out of time. I guess I'm wondering...By learning to feel...what do you think that means for you?" His sort of smile dropped from his face and he sat down on the sofa, turning the Elder Wand over in his hands.

"More and more I'm thinking..that it means I need to cry."

" _What?"_

"Cry. Be moved emotionally to tears."

"I know what crying is!" she snapped far more harshly than she'd intended...it was just..hard for her to process. Why would anyone _want_ to cry?

"Bellatrix. Please. Listen. You say you think I already have feelings. Madam Rhiannon says I already have feelings...Sybil Trelawney thinks I don't. I've smiled. I've laughed. I've maybe even felt something close to joy at acquiring this wand...but I've never cried. Not ever. Not even as a baby…"

"So you want me to-"

"Make me cry. Sadden me. Inspire sentiment in me. Affect me on an emotional level such that I am moved to tears for the first time in my life."


	14. Chapter 14: So Little Time

**Chapter 14: Sleepless Child, There is So Little Time**

 **A/N:** **Okay, so here I am really really really hoping that the formatting looks better on this chapter. I could have sworn one of you PM'ed me a link to formatting help, but then when I went to look it over before uploading this chapter, the message wasn't in my inbox anymore...idk maybe I dreamed that such a message ever existed in the first place lol anyway, this chapter felt really emotionally charged to me when I wrote it, so I hope I could convey some of that to you readers. This is the last chapter before the infamous battle at malfoy manor (where Dobby dies-rip) so this chapter is set around the end of February 1998. I really hope you enjoy it :)**

 **~SunDance~**

 **(Bella)**

"Almost there now-just a couple of blocks more," said Bellatrix briskly. She tugged at Voldemort's hand, pulling him along after her. She turned to look back at him over her shoulder and had to stifle a laugh. He did look comical, disguised as a Muggle Bellatrix had knocked out in London a week or so back-middle-aged and fat and blond with terrible posture. He had a scruffy beard that was topped off with a truly impressive mustache that quivered occasionally in the icy February breeze. Maybe she just wasn't used to seeing him with hair, let alone so much of it all over his face.

She had no room to laugh, really, because in her opinion at least, she looked just as ridiculous. The Muggle man's wife was taller than Bellatrix, far skinnier and much less curvy. She had more than a bit too much neck where her husband had very little neck at all and her hair, dark like Bellatrix's but smoother, shorter, and streaked with gray, was pulled back in a formidable bun. They looked like an ostrich and an overfed pig in wizards' robes (Bellatrix in mauve and Voldemort in navy blue instead of their usual black), shrouded in winter scarves and tottering through the slush in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

She'd been planning this day, Voldemort's first official lesson, for two weeks now and had been especially careful not to leave any kind of trail as to their whereabouts, identities or plans. After all, the whole point of this day was that they could, even if only for a few hours, live someone else's lives-the lives of people other than the Dark Lord and his most loyal Death Eater, a couple who could walk the streets undisturbed and do their shopping, unaffected by either side of the war slowly ravaging their world. Owing to her interest in not leaving a trail, she hadn't even killed the muggles she'd taken hairs from and she highly doubted that the husband, wife and their portly son would even notice the few minutes of which they had no memories-which was to say they seemed perfectly thick enough to suit her purpose.

 _~The Leaky Cauldron? Really, Bella?_ He hissed in his head, allowing her to read his thoughts.

 _~What about it? And remember, you can't call me Bella. I'm Sedona and you're Travers today._ She thought back, lowering the smokescreen around her thoughts just enough that he could only hear what she wanted him to. She hoped that their use of the names of two lesser-known Death Eaters would be easy enough for them to remember, but all the same wouldn't attract too much attention to them,

 _~I thought you were taking me into Muggle London. This is too brazen. You're acting like Potter-thinking a mere Muggle disguise will be enough to shelter you as you stare pointedly at an establishment only a witch or wizard should be able to see...We'll be recognized._ She sighed in response. Of course he was still doubting her.

 _~I thought you told me I was in charge for the day. I told you...I have a plan._ She thought back, shooting him a glare through the Muggle woman's small, beady eyes.

 _~And how many of your plans have worked out in your favor lately?_ He thought harshly as he laughed-not his pleasant, awkward new laugh, but the old fine-tuned mocking laugh he'd been sending in her direction for years.

 _~It's like I told you earlier…If you had grown up in a wizarding home as a child, you would have come to Diagon Alley on a special trip when you were eleven to collect your new school things and experience the whole place for the first time feeling like you belong instead of like it's some fantasy land you can't fully appreciate until you're older..._ she thought back sharply, trying to keep subdued her own memories of her first trip to Diagon Alley after officially receiving her Hogwarts letter in the mail. Of course she'd been to many of the little shops before on errands with her parents and of course she knew from the time she could walk and talk that she was a pureblood witch who'd go to Hogwarts one day, but still, there was something uniquely satisfying in checking off the items on the shopping list like she had purpose while her two younger sisters moaned about how they wanted new robes too and they wanted cauldrons and owls and real wands instead of toy ones, while really all they wanted was to be going off to Hogwarts like their big sister.

 _~And why are you so convinced I need to experience such a day? Sounds like a waste of time to me._ Voldemort thought bitterly back. She was convinced he only felt that way because he hadn't experienced it yet. She knew that everything Voldemort ever had at Hogwarts was second-hand and brought to him by Hogwarts teachers at the beginning of each term since he spent summers at the orphanage. Or perhaps he'd done the shopping with these teachers and was forced to watch many of his classmates ogle at expensive broomsticks and expensive dress robes in the windows of shops Voldemort would never even get to walk into, as he was always being hurried into some battered thrift store or another. No wonder he'd grown to prefer Knockturn Alley...but today was going to be different.

~ _If the point of your lesson for today is to inspire the feeling of unsurmountable boredom in me, then congratulations, for you've already found remarkable success,_ Voldemort added on in his mind.

 _~And yet here you are, going along with it._

 _~I'm curious as to how you'll conduct yourself._ Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but rather than offer him a response (mental or verbal), she closed her gloved hand (the one that was not holding onto Voldemort's) around the rusty latch handle of the Leaky Cauldron front door and wrenched it open. A cloud of steam shrouded her face as the bitterly cold, dry air of outside met and mingled with the heat from inside. She waved it away impatiently and tugged Voldemort into the pub aside her, letting the door bang shut behind them.

It was dim and dark inside, lit only by bracketed torchlights along the walls and the glow from a roaring fireplace, but it felt nauseatingly cheerful all the same.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron!" called the balding man behind the bar with a crooked, almost toothless smile.

~ _Good, he doesn't recognize us at all,_ Bellatrix thought more to herself than to Voldemort, but she'd forgotten to close her mind up all the way, so he replied snarkily,

 _~Of course he doesn't recognize us. We resemble some of the most unpleasant Muggles I've seen…._

 _~What'd you want me to disguise us as, beauty pageant winners?_

She was spared from having to endure Voldemort's jaded response by the barman, who waved them over to the greasy bar, which he was cleaning to not too much avail, with an equally greasy old rag.

"What'll you have?"

"Well, my friend here has just told me he never took the characteristic first trip into Diagon Alley after getting his Hogwarts letter when he was eleven, so I'm trying to remedy that today. We're going to hit all the usual spots-starting here, then going to Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkins and the like."

 _~What? Stop looking at me like that. The more you say that is truthful, the easier it is to lie_ , she thought into Voldemort's mind after seeing his eyes widen at her frankness with the barman.

"How sweet that is of you. Too bad you can't hit old Florean Fortescue's...his was the best ice cream in town, even in the cold."

 _~The Death Eaters thought so, too,"_ thought Voldemort sarcastically to Bellatrix and she had to, once again stifle a laugh. It wouldn't do them too good to be seen laughing at someone else's misfortune not even a half hour into their Diagon Alley trip.

"Thank you," replied Bellatrix with uncharacteristic politeness. "Now, what would you serve a young eleven year old whose just received his Hogwarts letter?"

The barman slid two non alcoholic butterbeers in their direction and Bellatrix dropped a few silver sickles on the counter to cover payment and tip, then ushered Voldemort off to a table in the corner by the fireplace. The table was broken in one leg and it rocked from side to side when they set their drinks down such that they had to always keep both sides balanced so the whole table wouldn't fall over.

~ _And this is supposed to be...enjoyable?_ thought Voldemort.

 _~You know, we can't just think at each other all day. It'll look odd if we don't talk to each other at all. We're supposed to be friends._

 _~Hah. Friends._

 _~Seriously, what's with you today? I could have said you were my husband,_ she teased, but apparently it wasn't well received. He remained looking stone-faced as he sipped at his butterbeer.

 _~And blown cover. Neither of us are wearing rings._

They finished their drinks in a silence Bellatrix only thought looked mildly suspicious, and then they retreated out into the courtyard behind the pub to tap the bricks in the wall that separated the muggle London from the wizarding one. Voldemort whipped out the Elder Wand and made to tap the brick pattern himself, but Bellatrix gestured for him to lower the wand.

"We're pretending you're an eleven year old on your first visit, remember? You wouldn't know the brick pattern yet. I'll do it." She tapped the pattern out with one of her spare cherry wands (she thought her knotted walnut real wand to be too recognizable and didn't want to bring it along for fear of giving them away) and the bricks slid apart, forming an archway just wide enough for them to walk through one at a time and step out into Diagon Alley proper. If she closed her eyes, Bellatrix could picture the place like it was when she was eleven. Bright with colors and invigorating all her senses at once with mingling scents of sweet candies, bitter apothecary ingredients, and all sorts of steaming potions...all of it accompanied by sounds of laughter in front of all the crowded storefronts, screeching owls and feet clattering over the cobblestone sidewalks.

Once she opened her eyes, however, it was to see the Diagon Alley ravaged by war. Hardly any feet clattered over the cobblestone but their own and one could hardly call their still-stop 'clattering' anywhere. What shops that remained unabandoned and free of boards over the windows had their doors shut tight even if they were open for business. Whether the general vacancy of the place was due to the cold or to everyone's paranoia, she didn't know.

"We'll hit Flourish and Blotts last. The books'll be heavy to carry. How about Madam Malkin's?" she asked verbally, referring to the long-standing shop that was a popular place for new and returning Hogwarts students to get fitted for school robes.

"You're not really going to make me go there, are you? Any robes I get will be fitted to this Muggle. And what if she takes too long and I can't get more Polyjuice in time?"

"I suppose you're right...and our side has shut down Ollivander's (that's usually the highlight of any eleven year old's first trip)...hmm...where else did I love to go when I was a child...oh, the Magical Menagerie!" she exclaimed, surprised she hadn't thought of it before. Second to Ollivanders, the Magical Menagerie had been her favorite shop to visit after she'd gotten her letter. She'd never had a pet her whole life because her mother thought they were dirty, but the letter DID say she was allowed to bring " _an OWL or a CAT or a TOAD,"_ and surely everyone else at Hogwarts would have one, as she'd been sure to remind her parents over and over, especially her father who had always been the softest on Bellatrix (the oldest, bravest and strongest of the three daughters-the one most like the son he'd always wanted), though surprisingly it was her mother who gave in after Bellatrix reminded her that Aunt Walburga had bought Sirius an owl to take to Hogwarts. So Bellatrix was allowed to get her owl-the one she'd been admiring in the shop window all day. It wasn't the youngest or the most beautiful or really majestic in any way like the snowy owls Narcissa and Andromeda longed for. No...Bellatrix's first owl was a tawny and black feathered barn owl with a chipped beak and a missing eye, but her eleven year old self had never wanted anything more.

"I don't want an owl, _Sedona_ ," growled Voldemort, using her alias name and bringing her back to the present. "Or a cat. Or a toad. I have Nagini."

"Right...well we can still look around...the Magical Menagerie is always an adventure in itself," said Bellatrix, feeling somewhat downcast. She thought if she brought him here, to the place where she'd had one of the happiest and most innocent days of her life and tried to recreate that day for him, maybe he'd feel something sentimental. But he really didn't seem to care about any of it.

After taking a few sips from their little flasks of Polyjuice potion to keep their Muggle disguises up, Bellatrix checked over her shoulder to make sure Voldemort was still behind her before pushing open the heavily screened door to the Magical Menagerie. To her delight and Voldemort's apparent chagrin, they were greeted by the sound of dozens of owls screeching at once from their various perches around the shop. The shopkeeper was not apparently visible (probably tending an animal somewhere) so Bellatrix took his momentary absence as an opportunity to pull Voldemort across the shop in the direction of the Puffskeins, which she hoped he might happen to find amusing. The Puffskeins were easy to spot, heaped in a barrel and characterized by their fluffy, custard-colored appearance and the musical humming sound they made when Bellatrix and Voldemort approached. To her ongoing disappointment, he merely curled his lips into a sneer and prodded one of the Puffskeins quite jarringly with the pointy tip of the Elder Wand, causing it to screech and burrow further amongst the others.

"I always thought they were pathetic, myself," she said, but her tone conveyed more bemused fondness than anything else.

"Then why would you show them to me?" he demanded, far more harshly than she thought he had cause to be. Bellatrix shrugged.

"Because they're funny." It was then that she heard a door close somewhere near the back of the shop and thought it was time they go anyway. The Magical Menagerie shopkeeper had been there for years and was always apt to ask nosy questions. Draping one arm over Voldemort's shoulders, disguised as the base of the stout muggle man's portly neck, she led him back out to the street, where the wind had kicked up, anxious to greet them and slice into their exposed faces. Voldemort didn't say or think anything to her.

"Now how about Quality Quidditch Supplies?" she suggested hopefully. "I know a first year student would never be allowed their own broomstick, but part of the fun of being a first year is going in and looking at all the brooms and daydreaming about which one you'll ask your parents for when you're a second year."

 _~Ah. The rich pureblooded witch's guide to Diagon Alley,_ he thought in what she suspected to be the driest tone he could muster without actually speaking.

 _~Please, my Lord. I'm doing this for you._

 _~Doing what for me, exactly?_

"Trying to get you to feel something!" she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting to think it to him. She clapped a hand over her mouth instantly and glanced around to see if anyone had heard them. The street was (fortunately or unfortunately) completely empty.

"What, exactly?" he growled.

"Literally anything!"

"Well, I feel cold and frustrated and I want to go home. If you think I've got nothing better to do than stroll around town with you while-"

"No. I know you've got loads better to do, but you did ask me to teach you." She spat in a tone she never could have used or been allowed to use in the past with him. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, things had changed between them over the past months. Maybe they were just friends. Maybe more. Maybe less. But there was something...something more than any relationship that should exist between a master and servant.

"If you think I'm going to let myself go soft for the sake of this prophecy or by spending too much time with you-"

"What, you think I'm soft?" she interrupted him again, not caring anymore about the two of them fighting in the middle of the street.

"Softer than you were before you started hanging around my home every day? Yes."

"What, so now I'm "hanging around?!"

 _~Forget it, Bellatrix,_ he thought darkly before he stormed into Quality Quidditch Supplies and slammed the door in her face. She rolled her eyes and took a few deep breaths before following after him. _Soft._ Fuck that. Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't...couldn't be... _soft._ But was she?

She found Voldemort in the back corner of the shop looking at a black-bristled broomstick with a shiny silver handle.

"Found something you like, have you?" she prompted, trying not to get her hopes up that perhaps he was finally going to enjoy himself.

 _~I can fly perfectly well without a broom and you know it, better and faster than any broomstick, in fact,_ he thought into her head. Right. So now he'd gone from a stony misery to the arrogant bastard incarnation of himself he presented to enemies and at Death Eater meetings. She rolled her eyes again and stalked away to a display advertising the newest Cleansweep model, the Cleansweep XIII. It was made of Spanish oak with a shiny mahogany-colored finish. Her first broomstick had been a Cleansweep, back when the brand was the best one could buy. Her Cleensweep IV was the fastest model of its time and was released especially so that the brothers behind the Cleansweep company could outdo Comet's latest broomstick and her younger sisters, who still had junior brooms, were jealous for years, though Bellatrix was the only one of the three to actually play for the Slytherin Quidditch team. She'd made Chaser in second year and played until sixth year, when she became one of the only female Beaters in the team's history. Her hit record (still on display somewhere in the trophy room at Hogwarts) was second only to one Tom Riddle's still-unbroken record for most hits of a bludger in a single game.

And then her thoughts were overshadowed by memories of the Voldemort who'd played in the snow with her on Christmas Day...why couldn't they have more moments like that? What was it about that day, specifically, that made him behave so...differently...and how could she recreate that?

And then the real Voldemort laid one of the muggle man's ham-like hands on her shoulder, pulling her, struggling, back into the present.

"Time to get going, I expect," he said in the same dry tone he'd been addressing her with all day.

"Can you please at least try to have fun? We're here, doing all this, for you…"

 _~Are we? Or are we here for you? I've seen it in your thoughts...all day, you've been reminiscing. You're not eleven years old, your parents are dead and your sister Andromeda might as well be. Grow up, Bellatrix. Narcissa has,"_ His thoughts sliced into the smoke-shroud lying limply around her mind like tiny razor blades. Why did she have to be in love with a man who could read her thoughts and know exactly how she was feeling at every given second, despite having hardly any feelings of his own about anything?

 _~You don't know anything about Narcissa...or Andromeda,_ she thought back bitterly.

 _~Not once did you ask me what shops I might want to visit...if any._

 _~Well, where would you like to go?_

 _~Home._

"Will you please stop jumping down my throat?!" she exclaimed aloud, causing the shopkeeper (who of course had not been privy to their mental battle) to look up from the register, startled. "It's not any kind of conspiracy…" she continued more quietly, her voice barely above a raspy whisper. "I really just wanted us to get out of the house and have fun...like we did that day in the snow." She offered him a small smile and hand to take so they could leave the store together, but he ignored both and stormed off by himself, back out into the snow. Bellatrix thought she would have rathered he hit her.

~ _You know, if you're worried about the two of us standing out, then you should probably stop acting like you hate me,_ she thought to him as soon as they were both back outside. It was beginning to get quite dark which meant it had to be after five and the shops would be closing up soon. A light snow had begun to fall again and it swirled with the wind in tiny spirals, catching at the ends of their exposed hair.

"Now, we've just got Flourish and Blotts to hit and then we'll get going," she said aloud and was disappointed to hear Voldemort sigh loudly.

"Skip Flourish and Blotts. They won't have the kinds of books we're interested in reading anyway and we won't have time to shop much before it closes."

"Fine. Then we'll leave."

"Wait, we're going home now, right?"

"Not exactly. There's one more place in London I had planned to take you...well, ideally you would have been happy-or your version of it anyway-and this last site of the day would have served stark contrast to everything else...but...well, I won't give it away. We have to apparate." She offered him her arm and she was grateful that he took it without complaint. Even if her first "lesson plan" for him had been a total failure up until now, she knew that this last place had to evoke _something_ in him, though what exactly that something would be, she didn't know.

"What is this dump?" Voldemort grumbled as their feet landed roughly on hard pavement. They were standing in the middle of a lesser-known section of Muggle London, facing a very drab three story brick structure with a set of dirty cement steps leading up to a boarded up gray door.

"Don't you recognize it?" she asked and after glancing around a couple of times, the Dark Lord shook his head.

"No. Where are we?"

 _~I found it, my Lord! The orphanage where you grew up! And here's the steps where you were born and where-_

 _~...My mother died, he finished for her in his head._

They stood in silence, both mental and physical, staring up at the building for what seemed like hours. Bellatrix (after making sure her thoughts were completely secure) tried to imagine a young Voldemort-Tom Riddle then-growing up in this place. A sign taped to the door said that the condemned building was set to be demolished and replaced with an office block so she was glad they'd been able to visit before then. Was she glad? Voldemort rarely, if ever, spoke of his time in this place, like he'd rather forget it entirely. Who then, was she to bring him back and make him remember? _Affect me on an emotional level such that I am moved to tears for the first time in my life,_ he had said and coming here, to Wool's Orphanage, was the first thing she thought of.

"Why would you take us here?" Voldemort asked finally.

"Because-"

"No. Let me finish. Listen carefully to my thoughts:" _Did it ever occur to you that the steps of this orphanage might be one place the Order of the Phoenix might expect me to appear? Do you not recall that this kind of sentimental lapse in judgment is precisely how I found Potter in Godric's Hollow?_

"I didn't think-"

"That's the problem. You don't think. For one supposed to be so bright-why would you do this? This day...this whole day, an utter waste of-" She knew they should get going, knew they were almost out of the Polyjuice Potion they needed to maintain their disguises, but she also couldn't stand to hear him go on anymore.

"Maybe I did this because...I thought...In a different life...in someone else's lives, we could be happy together. Forget happy. We could be together. Period. And knowing that...is such a grand and wonderful torture." He didn't say anything, but he did look at her intently through the muggle man's pouchy blue eyes-so much less beautiful than his own red ones, though she could still feel the same intensity. He was looking at her, her heart started beating faster and she just wanted to grab onto some part of him and admit with her whole heart that she wanted him. All of him. Forever. But what if he was angry with her? She saw that he had risked keeping one hand tightly on the Elder Wand, even in the middle of a high-muggle area, and she braced herself for his reaction. But what she didn't expect was for him to relax his grip on the wand as something softened in his expression. The wrinkle lines around his mouth turned downwards in the direction of the muggle man's mustache and the way his eyes seemed to turn downwards, too, following the direction of the bridge of the nose she wasn't used to seeing, reminded her, however briefly, of Tom Riddle. Of fifteen years ago. Before the Dark Lord fell. Before she'd spent thirteen years in Azkaban. Back when everyone thought she was beautiful. Something about it all brought tears to her eyes, so she looked away even though she didn't want to.

And then, as he'd had a habit of doing these past few months, Voldemort surprised her. He reached out a hand and clasped the muggle man's stubby fingers around the muggle woman's bony chin, and Bellatrix shivered like she always did.

"You are different, you know," he whispered so quietly she had to strain her ears to hear him. "Not just any other Death Eater. I wish I could feel something stronger for you so I didn't have to hurt you. I….don't want you be hurt." She had to really squeeze her eyes shut tightly to keep the tears from falling even though, if everything had gone according to her plan, he should have been the one crying. She risked a blink and a single tear escaped. She felt it running hot and filmy down the muggle woman's right cheek, but Voldemort noticed it right away and flicked it away with the pad of the muggle man's thumb.

"Says the man who thought he had no emotions," she whispered back as he gathered her in his arms.

"Well, we know now that I do. They've just been well buried for years...except for love...I can't love you like you love me. But that doesn't mean I haven't been trying."

"You…...what?" This was news to her.

"Trying. Yes. And it has left me with unimaginable frustration. YOU have left me in an unimaginably frustrating position. That's how I know you're different."

"But different in a good way?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then that will have to do for now."

 _~What a big heart I have_

 _All the better to love you with_

 _Little red riding hood_

 _Even bad wolves can be good~_


	15. Chapter 15: Battle of the Dragon

**Chapter 15: Battle of the Dragon**

 **(Bellatrix)**

Making Voldemort cry very quickly proved to be one of the most difficult tasks Bellatrix had ever undertaken. Ever since the disastrous day involving the orphanage, she was hesitant to explore anything that involved probing into his childhood. So she tried next to delve into his memories of his time at Hogwarts to see if their was anything that might inspire feeling in him, but it seemed that even by the time he arrived at school as an eleven-year-old, he may have already been too far gone.

Days dragged on. Days that turned into weeks. And then it was the Easter holidays and Draco was home, so Bellatrix was over visiting with the Malfoys and talking with Narcissa in her kitchen.

"You're asking me how to make someone cry. _You're_ asking _me_ how to make someone cry?" Narcissa parroted back in disbelief when Bellatrix had finally decided to seek her help. She didn't mention that the person she needed to make cry was Voldemort because that would be betraying his trust, but she had the feeling Narcissa knew anyway. "Well...I'd show or tell them something that would make them sad, I expect," she continued with slightly furrowed brows.

"Yes, but, hypothetically speaking, what if nothing made them sad...or joyful hardly even…"

"Bella-is this-" But Narcissa was interrupted by a loud bang. "Someone's at the gate."

"I'll come with you," said Bellatrix, instinctively reaching for her wand.

"No, it's quite alright. Lucius and I will take care of it...you stay here...the Dark Lord insists that now we must take extra caution to ensure that you are protected," her younger sister explained, much to Bellatrix's combined surprise and revulsion. The Dark Lord wanted to _protect_ her? This shocked and pleased her. But he wanted to do so by keeping her from the center of things? This disgusted her.

"Why?"

"No idea...something about needing you for something." Of course. As was typical of Voldemort, he didn't want to protect Bellatrix because he cared about her...sometime since Christmas, he'd convinced himself that Bellatrix was the only person who could unlock his emotions and free him from the prophecy...naturally he was only looking out for his own self-interest now. Narcissa offered Bellatrix a small smile that lacked her usual dimples, indicating that it was forced, and strode from the room.

Bellatrix waited. She heard voices in the drawing room. And harsh laughter. She tried to distract herself by looking around the kitchen, noting as always how ironic it was that the Malfoys, the epitome of the demure pureblood wizarding family, had a kitchen that looked distinctly more Muggle than wizard on account of all its shiny modern appliances. Her eyes wandered the room, finally landing on the stainless silver fridge, which stook out against the rest of the white kitchen and stood bare save for a tiny square picture affixed by magic to the upper right corner: a picture of the Malfoy family, taken when Draco couldn't have even been of Hogwarts age yet-holding Christmas packages in their hands, all smiling, all happy. Bellatrix couldn't tell if she was more revolted or jealous.

Then heard more raised voices in the drawing room. Then two loud bangs. She was out of her seat in an instant, hand around the handle of her wand and breathing heavily. She privately dared an Order of the Phoenix member to have descended upon Malfoy Manor. It'd been too damn long since she'd had a good fight.

"Cissy, is everything alright? What's happened? Bellatrix stepped slowly into the drawing room, wand drawn at her side and when she saw who Narcissa and Lucius were interrogating, her heart jumped and caught in her throat. Sitting, bound by invisible ropes, in the center of Narcissa's pristine white living room, were three teenagers. Without waiting for an invitation, she entered the room. The werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, paced in circles around the prisoners in disgustingly tattered Muggle clothing with an oversize knapsack on his back. He drew particularly close to the female prisoner, sandwiched in the center of the two teenage boys and feebly attempting to shield her face behind a mane of bushy brown hair.

"But surely," Bellatrix said quietly, realization setting in as her heart fluttered into her throat once more, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?" If the girl was Granger...then...surely…

"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cried Lucius, from his position across the room, seated in a white and cream upholstered armchair with his wand trained sharply on the three prisoners. "And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"

Narcissa, standing in the corner by the door out into the entrance hall, holding her wand firmly at her side, intook a sharp breath. Bellatrix bent down to better inspect the prisoners...it couldn't be...oh if she could be the one to call him...he would be so pleased...maybe even _happy._ But she had to be sure.

"Potter? Are you sure?" The prisoner to the right of the Granger girl _was_ wearing glasses and desperately scrambling to cover his forehead. Bellatrix dug her nails into his forearm and wrenched his hand away, checking...and then her eyes zeroed in on a tiny lightning bolt scar.

"The Dark Lord must be informed at once!" she gasped and dragged back her left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark she'd worn proudly since she was fifteen years old: an imperius skull with a snake emerging from its open mouth, as majestic and perfect as the man who'd tattooed it there.

"I was about to call him!" said Lucius, leaping from his chair and grabbing Bellatrix's shoulder from behind. "I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority—" Bellatrix shoved his arm away and turned her wand on him. She would never hurt her baby sister's husband, but she hated the way he became when he was trying to earn favor for himself.

"Both of you. Please," Narcissa hissed, stepping just a few paces away from the door, enough that she was still guarding the entryway, but making her presence known all the same. "Bella, darling I know you want to do this, but we're supposed to be protecting you-how would it look if we allowed you to-

"Begging your pardon, Mrs. Malfoy," interjected the werewolf suddenly, "but it's me that caught Potter, and it's me that'll be claiming the gold—" Bellatrix gasped, horrified. She turned on her heel and pointed her wand away from her brother-in-law and onto Greyback.

"Gold!" she shrieked. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his—of—" She stopped, her eyes falling on something horrible. A glint of silver and red sticking out of the werewolf's knapsack.

"I'm calling him," mumbled Lucius, and he yanked up his own left sleeve. Bellatrix almost didn't notice. Her mind had wandered to another place. A top security vault deep below the ground at Gringotts Bank in London...a vault no one should have entered since she herself had been there the day after Christmas. Lucius's sudden movement brought her back to the present.

"STOP!" she shouted desperately. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" Lucius stared at her blankly with one finger still just above his own Dark Mark. Bellatrix strode closer to Greyback and pointed to the silver and red object, just barely visible, but there all the same.

"What is that?"

"Sword," he grunted and more terrible thoughts flooded her mind. If it was the sword she was thinking of, it shouldn't be here. If it was the sword she was thinking of, it was hers and should still be residing in her vault at Gringotts beside a small gold cup, the one thing her Dark Lord had ever entrusted to her completely.

"Give it to me."

"It's not yours, Miss Lestrange, it's mine, I found it."

"Stupefy!" she screamed, extending her wand as a jet of red sparks sent Greyback crumpling to the ground. She summoned the sword to her, a beautiful goblin-made piece with a hilt of glittering rubies, and caught it easily in her right hand, still keeping her wand pointed at Greyback in her left.

"Where did you get this sword?" she whispered and in her mind, performed the nonverbal incantation to disarm him, sending his wand flying into her sister's hands.

"How dare you?!" Greyback snarled, getting to his feet.

"Where did you find this sword?" she repeated slowly as fear threatened to overtake her. "This is _mine…"_ It was supposed to be inside her vault at Gringotts and if they'd...if someone had broken in...what if the Dark Lord was right and Potter did know about the Horcruxes?

"It was in their tent, now release it!" rasped Greyback. He lunged forward, his large teeth and long yellow nails far closer to Bellatrix's neck than she ever would have liked. Narcissa screamed at the same time as Draco emerged from around the entryway where he'd evidently been guarding the front door. He looked from Greyback to his aunt, ashen-faced. Bellatrix rolled her eyes at her nephew's lack of nerve and with a flick of her wand, stunned Greyback to the ground again, this time knocking him out cold.

"Are you alright, Bella?" Narcissa rushed to her sister's side, turning her wand on the three prisoners. Bellatrix struggled to remain composed while anxiety riddled away at any semblance of sanity she possessed.

"I'm sorry Cissy, but the situation is graver than you can possibly imagine...We have a very serious problem!"

"I know you're worried about hurting your favor with him, but we have _Potter_ -under any circumstances, the Dark Lord would want us to-"

"No! If they have this sword, then they must have been in my vault and if they have-if they took-" Bellatrix clamped a hand over her mouth. If by some miracle they didn't know, she didn't want to be the one to tell them. She was beginning to feel truly fearful now, her mind consumed by only one thought: _had they been inside her vault?_ And this thought spawned others, quickly and without pause: _how did they get inside? how much did they know? what else did they take?_ "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself. . . . But if he finds out . . . I must . . . I must know. . . ."

The three prisoners huddled together, watching her. Bellatrix felt the nerves beneath her skin begin to shake. More than anything...more than the danger their side would be in if Potter and his friends knew about the Horcruxes...more than the horrifying prospect of losing Voldemort...Bellatrix was most upset that he was going to think she betrayed his trust. She turned once more to Narcissa.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar...I need to think. You have no idea of the danger we're in." She lashed out angrily, sending a jet of fire from the tip of her wand and burning a hole in the white carpet. She felt Narcissa lay a very hesitant hand against her back.

"Bella...please. It'll be alright. Lucius, please take the prisoners down to the cellar-"

"Wait, Cissy. He can take them...all except for the Mudblood. Leave her and take the others. Keep them alive, but secure. They might be of use to us later." The third prisoner, the redheaded blood traitor boy, cried out at her words.

"No! Not Hermione! Please-keep me instead!"

Bellatrix scoffed at his attempt to display heroism. "Aww-ickle blood traitor baby's got himself a girlfriend." She laughed, letting the room fill with her power and using it to bury her fear. Lucius drug the two boys away by the invisible, magical ropes and Draco scurried after him. Bellatrix knew that her nephew was trying to look useful, but that really he didn't like to watch anyone being tortured. He had a weak stomach like his mother, which made Bellatrix feel sickest of all of them.

She turned on the girl, who shivered on the floor. "Sit up," she spat. The girl only curled more deeply into a tight ball, and further into herself. "I said, _sit up and look at me!_ Imperio!" The girl screamed as she tried to resist the imperius curse, but was forced up into a sitting position all the same, though her limbs were still bound by Lucius Malfoy's magical ropes.

"Bella, is this really necess-"

"Quiet, Cissy! Now, girl. I'm going to ask you once as kindly as I can muster-Where did you get this sword?" She knelt down at the mudblood's level and extended the sword, letting its sharp point brush only slightly against the girl's chin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to cause her to squeeze her eyes shut.

"We...we found it," she whispered. " _Please._ Believe me. You're an Occlumens! You've got to be! Just-"

"Silence! Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where did you get this sword? Where?"

"I told you! We found it! We found it!" the girl screamed. Bellatrix handed the sword off to Narcissa and conjured a small silver dagger with her wand, preferring its more controllable grip to the cumbersome sword. She paced around the girl in little circles, smaller and smaller like a vulture honing in on its prey. She pressed the tip of the dagger to the girl's scalp through her hair and enjoyed holding it there while the mudblood whimpered. Bellatrix was losing control of herself to the pain of someone else and she relished every second of it. She forgot, momentarily, of the danger they were in as the fear gave way to a wish that the Dark Lord could be there to see her now.

"You're lying, filthy Mudblood. I _know_ it," she whispered directly into the girls ear as she knelt closer to her and pressed the knife against her scalp until tiny beads of blood appeared there. Still, the girl did not scream. She only continued to whimper and plead quietly for her life and the lives of her pathetic friends.

"Why would you protect them, dearie?" She drew the knife away, and sat down beside the mudblood, wrapping her arm under her neck in a gentler version of a chokehold, pulling her close. "You're a strong woman, Hermione. You don't need to plead for them. What are they up here doing for you? You don't think they could escape Lucius if they wanted to? They've done it before. They're not. They're scared. They know you've got it the worse off and they'd rather you than them."

"That's not true. And you know it. You're just a foul, evil woman who-"

Then she was screaming. Thrashing wildly. Bellatrix got to her feet and stood over the girl, who writhed in agony on the floor.

"Come on darling, be strong. Men are afraid of women who are strong- _everyone_ is."

Hermione Granger screamed again. Implanting visions of fear into people's minds had long been Bellatrix's specialty and it was manipulative in a way that even Voldemort admired.

" _Everyone thinks_ that when I torture people, I can only cause _physical_ pain," she hissed, trying to imagine what the girl was seeing and feeling-whatever her worst fears were, actualized, all around her.

"Bella! Please! Perhaps they really haven't been inside your vault. Can't we stop this and just call the Dark Lord-"

"Relax, Cissy. I'm not actually hurting her. She just _thinks_ I am." Just like the Longbottoms. She hadn't caused them hardly any physical pain either and they'd been found with virtually no discernible injuries...but rumor had it they were still shut up in St Mungo's unable to pick apart their true reality from the terrifying one Bellatrix had crafted for them.

With a snap of her fingers, she released the girl from the vision. Hermione stopped screaming and opened her eyes, allowing Bellatrix to see the tears gathering in her terror-stricken eyes.

"Now, let's see if you're ready to tell me," Bellatrix prompted. "You have been inside my vault at Gringotts, haven't you? Tell the truth, tell the truth!" She kneeled down again and cradled Hermione's chin in her hands, cupping the tears that fell wildly into them.

"Please-no-kill-don't-"

"Oh no, love, it's a bit soon to be talking about killing, isn't it? Didn't I tell you to be strong?" Then Hermione was screaming again as Bellatrix grabbed a several pieces of her hair and yanked on them with all her strength. "What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME!" she demanded and when the girl again refused, Bellatrix shrouded her back in the vision. Hermione's body twisted on the floor as she let out a truly bloodcurling scream that made Narcissa shudder and sit down in one of the armchairs.

Bellatrix grinned, remembering when she was just a young Death Eater and Voldemort taught her how to do this particularly fucked up bit of Dark Magic…how he'd watch her scream, but she couldn't see him. Her eyes were somewhere else, watching Tom Riddle's body burn. She chased the flames trying to get to him, but the fire was faster and it swept against her, lapping against her ankles and climbing higher. She was burning while she watched him die, but that all seemed far away now and she could only really remember the sound of her own screams, like sharp metal nails scraping plywood. It was all she could do to keep from begging him to stop.

But how that all seemed like so long ago. Now she was better at it than he was. All you had to do was think really hard about what would be most torturous to you and then implant that feeling of desperation on your victim-like a reverse patronus. Maybe he couldn't do it because he'd never felt tortured enough. But all Bellatrix had to do was think of the look on his face when he found out she'd failed at something so simple as keeping the Horcrux- _a piece of his fucking soul_ -safe from harm. Hermione Granger kept on screaming, but Bellatrix wasn't even listening.

"Bellatrix?" Her eyes snapped up. Lucius had returned and was standing beside his still-seated wife, massaging her shoulders with stomach-wrenching tenderness. "Is everything alright? Can we call the Dark Lord?"

"NO! NO! EVERYTHING IS NOT FUCKING ALRIGHT! SHE GOT INTO MY VAULT! How did you get into my vault, dirty bitch?" Bellatrix shrieked. "Did that slimy little goblin in the cellar help you?" Bellatrix released the mudblood from the vision and swung her wand around wildly, sending a comet of black sparks ricocheting off the wall and shattering the delicate frame of a portrait that hung there.

"We only met him tonight!" the mudblood moaned. "We've never been inside your vault. . . . It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy? Oh, a likely story!" Bellatrix gave a shrill, faltering laugh.

"But we can find out easily!" growled Lucius. "I'll fetch the goblin. He can tell us if the sword is real or not." He disappeared out into the hall again, presumably to go down into the cellar to get the goblin.

"Stay there! I want someone to keep watch on the prisoners! I don't trust them not to try to escape!"

"I've got Wormtail down there on watch...but I really don't think they'd try to escape while we've got the girl-"

"Shut up, Lucius! Of course they would! They're a couple of fucking cowards, just like you! Now get the damn goblin!"

"Don't you yell at my husband! This is _our_ home!" shouted Narcissa, rising to her feet as color flushed to her pale cheeks. Bellatrix swung her wand around from Hermione on the floor twisted in pain, to the back of Lucius's retreating form, to Narcissa panting angrily in the corner. She sauntered over to her sister, swaying slightly in rage and fear that burned through her, white-hot.

"You're supposed to be the good one, Cissy. The _INNOCENT_ ONE OF US!" she shouted, her voice growing louder with each word. But then she faltered at her sister's wide, horrified eyes. "...can't you see, darling? I'm still just trying to protect you. This," she whispered, gesturing wildly to the mudblood on the floor, her wand, the knife, "is just the only way I know how." Before Narcissa could respond, however, Lucius strode back into the drawing room, tugging the goblin, long their prisoner, along at his side while Draco followed up behind them. The goblin's eyes found the sword at Narcissa's side and locked hungrily on it. Bellatrix turned her wand and knife onto it at the same time.

"Now, goblin-" _BANG!_

"What was that?" shouted Lucius. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?" It was clearly a loud bang followed by a fainter _thud._ Bellatrix stopped pacing. Her heart started beating imperceptibly fast as she strained to hear anymore noises in the cellar. Lucius Malfoy stormed from the room and she heard his voice echo from out in the entrance hall.

"What's happened, Wormtail?"

"Nothing!" They heard Wormtail call back. "All fine!"

"Easy on the theatrics, then," Lucius muttered, returning once more to the drawing room. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and directed her attention back to the goblin. She allowed it to pick up the sword, thinking four adult wizards (and the werewolf) could easily overpower the creature if need be. She watched as it examined the sword in its long-fingered hands. She kicked the still whimpering mudblood girl sharply in the side in her anticipation.

"Well?" she asked impatiently."Is it the true sword?"

"No," said the goblin. "It is a fake." Bellatrix felt her heart-rate slowly descend back to normal.

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes," said the goblin. Bellatrix felt her face crack into a smile as she took a deep breath, all her earlier anxiety fading into peaceful oblivion. _He was going to be so proud of her..._

"Good," she said, and she flicked her wand in his direction, causing the hideous goblin to drop to the floor with a pained yell as blood sputtered from a deep cut on the side of his hooked nose, speckling Narcissa's carpet with red flecks. Bursting with sudden happiness, Bellatrix pushed back her sleeve and touched her right index finger to the Dark Mark.

"And now," she said, "we call the Dark Lord! And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood now. Greyback can take her if he wants when he wakes...I suppose he should have some reward for bringing them to us…"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Bellatrix snapped her head up at the source of the sound. Harry Potter and his redheaded blood traitor friend burst into the drawing room, the latter of the two wielding Wormtail's wand over his head.

"Expelliarmus!" he bellowed and Bellatrix shrieked as her wand rose from her grasp and into Harry Potter's outstretched fingertips. Lucius, Narcissa and Draco spun on their heels at the same time as Greyback came to and Potter yelled " _Stupefy!"_ Bellatrix watched in revulsion as jets of red light exploded out of her wand, in Harry Potter's hand, and hit Lucius Malfoy in the chest. He fell backward into the fireplace as her sister and nephew turned their wands on Potter. Her eyes darted back and forth across the room. She had to act fast, but she felt especially vulnerable without her wand, even with the knife.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!" Bellatrix exclaimed. She pulled the near-unconcious mudblood girl off the floor and held her up with one arm, holding the silver dagger to her throat with the other. "Drop your wands," she rasped. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!" But the idiots only raised she and Wormtail's wands higher over their heads. "I said, drop them!" she growled, grazing the side of her knife against the mudblood's neck, close enough to just barely draw blood.

"All right!" Harry bellowed, and both dropped their wands to the carpet as she knew they would. "Good! Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!" And she could feel it just as strongly as she knew it was true. The Dark Lord was coming, and she was about to be honored beyond anything she'd ever dreamed.

 **-0000-00000-0000-**

 **(Voldemort)**

Voldemort was finally close enough to apparate. He could feel the snake heart pounding quickly in his chest-he'd never felt like this before. Was it...excitement? Anticipation? Joy? He didn't know, but he was okay with it. All prophecies aside, he was finally going to kill Harry Potter...and Bellatrix was going to be the one to hand him over. He spun on his heel in midair over a stormy sea and disappeared in a haze of water droplets lapping up at his vanishing form as the drawing room at Malfoy Manor started to twist into view. Shadowy figures swam into his line of vision standing in stark contrast against the pale white furniture. He grew closer-close enough to make out the individual shapes. Narcissa Malfoy in the far right corner behind the sofa, picking shards of something sharp out of her son's face. Lucius Malfoy pacing the floor. Greyback the werewolf slumped against the fireplace, appearing to be knocked out...and Bellatrix. Her chest was heaving up and down very quickly and he knew enough of her by now to know that she was trying not to cry.

"Where," he said simply as his feet made contact with the carpet. No one answered. He glanced briefly back and forth between their terrified expressions and he knew. "You let them escape." "You summoned me here...and let them escape," he repeated quietly. "Or maybe," he continued as the three Malfoys drew closer together in the corner. "Maybe...they were never here to begin with, which means, the one who LIED to Lord Voldemort...was you," he said, rounding on Bellatrix. She stood alone in front of the fireplace, blocking Greyback's crumpled form from view. Her shoulders were shaking, but this time it wasn't because he was or wasn't touching her.

"Mmmm...My Lord...please...we...I…"she stammered, unable to even get a coherent thought out. Not that she ever had many coherent thoughts to begin with. She lowered herself into a deep curtsy, but with one flick of the Elder Wand, her legs buckled beneath her and she fell, whimpering, into the silver shards of a broken chandelier. He took a few silent steps towards her until he was standing directly over her. "YOU," he growled. "Stupid full of yourself groveling bitch-think you're _above_ being punished, don't you?"

Because they would have to be punished. _All_ of them.

"My Lord-please. It wasn't Bellatrix. It wasn't her fault!" exclaimed Narcissa Malfoy anxiously. And then she proceeded to describe exactly what happened during the capture and subsequent...escape.

"Ah," mused Voldemort, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "We've got ourselves a hero in our midst." Whatever had come over Narcissa that she thought she needed to defend her sister was something Voldemort did not understand. Maybe he was too angry to understand.

"Really…"continued Narcissa breathlessly. "She wanted us to wait to call you...didn't think we had a good enough hold on them to begin with…"

"And yet...in the end, though it is your house Narcissa and Lucius, and though Bellatrix was under order not to be in the middle of conflict...it was she who summoned me here. What is it, Bella? Trying to take credit for what better wizards and witches than you have done?" Bellatrix scrambled to her feet and began backing up into the fireplace. Voldemort was having trouble imagining that this was even the same person he'd allowed to live in his home for three months and right now, he would have preferred she do anything but try to back away from him. Anything to show she was still his best, most loyal Death Eater.

"Bellatrix. You're supposed to be so good at thinking of punishments-how about you think of-wait. I have a better idea. Narcissa. Your punishment is going to be to give me an idea-the best way to torture your sister." He expected Bellatrix to react-scream, protest-but she just cast her eyes to the floor with her hands to her sides, whimpering softly.

It was Naricissa who screamed. Narcissa who was struggling to keep the shield up around her mind, but Narcissa who, nonetheless, thought of something Voldemort latched onto with his own mind-an image of Bellatrix crying herself out on a sleigh bed.

"No! Get out of my head! Please!" Narcissa screamed and kicked the air like she was fighting off something tangible. Amused, Voldemort pulled back mentally, and then abruptly pierced the thin shroud around her mind.

 _**Bellatrix is crying like she is in pain and Narcissa doesn't want Bellatrix to be in pain. She lays one of her palms flat against her older sister's back._

" _Oh, Bella. I wish I could set you free from all this-make you forget." Narcissa says, not intending to draw her wand at the same time, but perhaps it is instinctive. Or maybe she hadn't known until now how much she meant it-she wants Bellatrix to forget it all. "Sometimes I just want to make you forget all of it..him, the war, Mother disowning Andromeda, this whole mess…" She tells her sister everything that she's thinking, as she always has even though she knows Bella hasn't always been so honest in return._

" _No! DON'T YOU DARE! I am free, Cissy. I'm free to feel this way!" Bellatrix shoots her little sister a gruesome glance and then attacks, shoving Narcissa to the other side of the bed and knocking her wand away in the process. She moans out in agony, but Narcissa doesn't even flinch. She doesn't really want to wipe her sister's memory-especially since making her forget all about the Dark Lord might be the worst form of torture to her of all...No, what Narcissa wants is to be the one to forget. Wake up somewhere far away with Lucius and Draco, a proper family, all of them safe from harm. She doesn't know why she and Lucius ever got involved...they were young and stupid then, but now she hates the war. Fears for Draco's safety. Hates the Death Eaters. Sometimes hates her sister, even….Hates Voldemort. Hates Voldemort most of all-**_

Narcissa let out a horrible shriek and fell back into her husband's arms with the force of having finally fought Voldemort out of her thoughts. She looked terrified, probably worried he was going to punish her worst of all for her supposed hatred of him...but he didn't mind. He'd rather his servants fear and hate him than love him-at least, the former made everything easier.

"Very good idea...very good...see, I knew you'd be a tremendous help. But I am going to make one small change. You're not going to forget everything about me. If you _love_ me as you say," he said, pausing, as always, to sneer at the word "love." "You will remember that you you felt that way-you will know you feel that way-but you won't know why or for whom-and you'll spend the rest of your life, wondering and driving yourself mad searching, but if I have my way, we'll never be alone together again."

"Whh...what? What are you talking about?! What idea?! What did you show him, Cissy?!" Bellatrix exclaimed desperately, rushing to her sister's side, but it was quite possible that Narcissa was crying too hard to speak.

"I'm so...so sorry Bella," was all she could manage between tiny hiccuping sobs.

"Sorry? What for?"

"Do you remember that night I suggested removing all your memories of...the Dark Lord?" she whispered finally. Bellatrix opened her mouth like she was trying to scream. To protest. But no sound came out. One hand flew to her mouth as she the realization hit her and she sunk to the carpeted floor in front of the Malfoys. Voldemort observed all of this, musing. He used to resent not having a family, until he saw what families ended up doing to each other in the end. They'd speak of honor and loyalty and blood, but they'd spear each other in the back at first chance to save their own skins.

"Please...My Lord…" Bellatrix finally seemed to find her voice. "Please...there are other ways to punish me. Worse ways, even-send me back to Azkaban! I'm sure the Dementors would go back to...looking after me...if you ordered it! Please!" Her tone started out reasonable enough, but ended up sounding weak, high-pitched and desperate. She grabbed at the hem of his robes with her outstretched fingertips, while Voldemort stood over her, trying to decide if he felt anything at all short of revulsion. Finding nothing, he tugged his robes away from her at once and she buried her face into the carpet, her entire body wracking with sobs. The Malfoys shrank into their corner when Voldemort pulled out the Elder Wand and let his fingers fall neatly around its smooth, polished handle.

"Remember when you told me I was your favorite," Bellatrix whined, looking up at him from her place on the floor as sloppy wet tears fell down her face and splashed the carpet in front of her. "Remember when you saved me THREE TIMES because I must have meant something to you-and when we...at the Halloween Ball….and Christmas and you asking me to teach you and how about at the orphanage, when you said you didn't want to hurt me?"

"I have a very keen memory," he replied coolly and then decided he'd let this go on for long enough.

He looked from Greyback lazily coming round beneath the fireplace mantle, to the three Malfoys silently healing the cuts in their skin from where pieces of the broken chandelier had hit them, to Bellatrix moaning on the floor and pointed the Elder Wand at her, daring anyone try and stop him.

" _Obliviate_!" he bellowed and their world, already perched so precariously atop the highest shelf in the forefront of his mind, like an old snowglobe already spinning, already tearing apart in a horde of ice and snow and pain, splintered into pieces.

He took her memories the way he had always been skilled at, trapping them, viscous and sinewy, in a vile to study them. And afterwards he apparated away with a final swish of his robes, leaving her essentially alone, confused and sobbing on the floor.

 _~I can't let you in,_

 _cause the world is falling to pieces~_

 _I can't let you in,_

 _cause the world will tear us to pieces~_

 **A/N: I realize I'd be an evil, evil author if I just ended the story there =P**


	16. Chapter 16: Storms

**Chapter 16: I Have Always Been A Storm**

 **(Voldemort)**

" _First years, follow me! First years, follow me! I'm Head Boy!"_

 _Voldemort's feet clattered against polished stone as he fell into his Pensieve, into Bellatrix's memories, and as the flickering flamelights twisted into view, he recognized the dungeon passageways beneath Hogwarts. He heard the echo of footsteps and his younger self-17-year-old Tom Riddle-'s voice drawing nearer._

" _First years, follow me! First years! Keep up!" They rounded the corner and Tom Riddle swept past Voldemort, who stood invisible, flush against a dark suit of armor. Behind Riddle, one first year girl trotted ahead of the rest._

" _I know where the Common Room is already," she boasted to anyone who would listen. "My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations!" Voldemort looked at the child with considerable interest and as he often did when watching memories of his own younger self, Voldemort searched for any trace of the woman young Bellatrix Black would grow up to become. She had a tomboyish air about her as she continued to push ahead of the other children in shiny black new Hogwarts robes with a gleaming emerald and silver Slytherin badge already pinned to the front and her characteristic bushy black hair hair back in a ponytail down her back._

" _Oi prefect!" Tom Riddle spun around on his heel with an air of wondering who could have such nerve and something tugged at Voldemort's insides as he watched his younger self meet Bellatrix for the first time-an incident he'd forgotten, but she had always remembered._

" _What?" She took her strides two at a time to try and catch up with him as he kept on walking._

" _They were saying on the train that the rules have definitely changed, that first years aren't allowed to play for their house Quidditch teams anymore, like it said in our letters-but that's a load of rubbish, innit?"_

" _I assure you, it is not," Riddle replied curtly. But the girl persisted._

" _They were also saying," she continued carefully. "That the Head Boy of Hogwarts-you-are also Slytherin Quidditch captain."_

" _That is correct."_

" _Well, I just thought-if I talked to you-and you said it was alright for me to try out-and since I've been playing for years with my cousins and I'll be twelve by the opening match-"_

" _Who are you anyway?" he asked irritably, as Voldemort felt a rush of admiration for Bellatrix's daring._

" _My name is Bellatrix Black."_

 **-0000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-0000-**

 _Then everything shifted and began to spin. Voldemort shut his eyes tightly and when he opened them, he was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts in the midst of what appeared to be dinner. The Slytherin table furthest left was full of students, but Voldemort spotted himself immediately, in his usual place among the other seventh years who would become his first Death Eaters. They were talking quietly, their heads bent over their pork roast-Tom Riddle, Mulciber, Avery, Rosier...until a familiar first year girl interrupted their conversation._

" _Excuse me, Tom Riddle?" she asked with a sense of mock timidness as she strode up behind him and prodded him in the back with her fingertip. Tom Riddle turned to her and stared her down with eyes like cement. Voldemort approached them cautiously. He knew enough about memories that he knew it simply wasn't possible that they could see or hear or sense him, but he stayed nearer to the Ravenclaw table all the same. A few of Tom Riddle's friends sniggered._

" _Look! Tom's got himself an admirer!" said Goyle._

" _Shut it!" Riddle growled, but still Bellatrix Black did not falter._

" _I'm Bellatrix, remember? Bellatrix Black. And I was wondering if you'd given anymore thought to letting me try out to play Chaser."_

 **-0000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-0000-**

 _In the next memory, Voldemort found himself standing in the middle of the deserted Hogwarts Quidditch pitch around twilight. The three golden hoops standing tall at the west end of the field glowed orange in the sunset. Two shadowy figures moved towards him from the east-direction of the school, not yet touched by the light and so dark he couldn'tyet make out their features, but he had a feeling he knew them all the same. The taller of the two carried a russet-colored leather trunk at his side. He walked briskly so the shorter of the two had to struggle to keep up and once or twice, nearly stumbled over the broomstick she carried._

" _Naturally, if you've been playing as long as you say, then you'll already know all the positions."_

" _Of course, who doesn't? And I know all the balls, all about the scoring, the fouls you can get away with and the ones you can't, and nearly every player Slytherin has had on the team for like the past dozen years."_

 _Bellatrix Black and Tom Riddle moved into Voldemort's line of vision. And he remembered. He had let Bellatrix try out. He knew she couldn't play, knew Headmaster Dippet wouldn't bend his rule for anyone, least of all a Slytherin, but even still, he thought she should have her chance to prove if she had the talent to back up all her talk. He watched, curiously, at the two bantering back and forth before finally, Bellatrix Black kicked off from the ground on Tom Riddle's personal broom. He hadn't wanted her to use a school broomstick-didn't want her to have any grounds to complain that the broom interfered with her flying. No, she would fly his broom, the fastest and most superior model of its time, the one he'd worked all summer saving up for. Voldemort strode towards the center of the Quidditch pitch as Bellatrix took to the sky. She hadn't bluffed...much. She did have good control of the broomstick for one her age and a surprising ability to gain speed quickly without sacrificing her control-but Tom Riddle was not content to watch her zoom around the empty pitch. He wanted to see if she could play like she boasted._

 _Without any warning or prior indication to her, Riddle pointed his wand at the russet-colored trunk and it opened, sending three balls spiraling towards her all at once. One, the large red Quaffle, was the one she needed to focus on if she wanted to show him she could score and the other two, smooth black Bludgers, would be content to try to knock her off her broom and with no Beaters in the sky, she'd need to prove exceptional at dodging them._

 _She sped through the air after the Quaffle as the two Bludgers pursued her, but she was the fastest of the three. She pointed the broomstick to the ground and nose-dived after the Quaffle, sliding between the two Bludgers gaining on her. She completed her dive, toes skimming the ground and kicking up dust, hands closing around the Quaffle as she ascended again. One of the Bludgers continued to pursue her, but the second one changed direction as if it had just spotted Riddle standing there. Voldemort watched the expression on his pale, kidney-shaped face change from neutral impassivity to one of smugness as he pulled from the pocket of his robes a shiny silver Beaters bat. The bat hit the Bludger with a perfectly aimed crack as Riddle sent the second Bludger back at Bellatrix, who neared thr tall goal hoops. She stretched her arm back to throw the Quaffle and score, pausing long enough to be nearly spun off course by the Bludger Riddle hit at her. With admirable precision, Voldemort watched the eleven year old throw the Quaffle through the middle, tallest goalpost and then circle around herself, out of the path of the Bludger, which went speeding back towards Riddle. Meanwhile, the first Bludger caught up with her again, descending rapidly from where it had briefly been circling the pitch, just as Riddle hit the second one again, aiming it directly at her shoulder. Bellatix's features contorted in panic momentarily, but she quickly gathered herself and pulled her wand-one Voldemort recognized as the same twisted one she'd still used right up until she'd let a 17-year-old duel it from her._

" _IMMOBLIA!" the girl shouted, pointing her wand at both Bludgers in a gallant sweeping gesture, paralyzing both in the air so she could land safely back on the ground beside the unseen Voldemort and his younger self._

 _Bellatrix's whole being seemed to bristle indignantly as she dismounted the broomstick._

" _What were you playing at? You could have killed me!" she hissed._

" _But I didn't, did I?"_

 **-0000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-0000-**

 _The memory changed again, right before his eyes, and then he was in Knockturn Alley at Borgin and Burkes, where he'd worked for a few years after graduating from Hogwarts. And Bellatrix was there, of course, only she was a little older-a teenager, probably._

" _And everything you've been saying-I just wanted to tell you that I agree with you-with all of it-everything about the Muggle plot to steal our magic and drive us out once and for all-I agree with you. And I want to help you fight them." Bellatrix said all of this to Tom Riddle quickly and breathlessly as if she was afraid she would run out of air, but she caught her breath and he still didn't say anything. He was standing behind the shop counter using a small rounded glass to examine a pair of cursed earrings that Borgin told him some old wizard had been very anxious to be rid of. Bellatrix frowned a bit, but went on. "Please. Sir. I've been doing loads of reading. All last year. They've been trying to persecute us for centuries...and this...this muggle-born business, well it's just the next step, all like you said in your interview with the Prophet. You're planning something, I can tell, and I-"_

" _No," Tom Riddle said finally, laying the glass down on the counter as he spoke. Voldemort watched his younger self curiously from his position beside the vanishing cabinet. "No," Tom Riddle repeated. "You're just a child."_

" _Tom-I-"_

" _You're but 14."_

" _15...almost," Bellatrix replied, straightening herself up and pushing out her chest as if to make herself look taller and more mature-bodied._

" _Whatever happens...you'll have no part in it until you're of age and that's my final word."_

" _But-"_

" _Bella!" As if on cue, an older witch that Voldemort recognized as Bellatrix's mother Druella, burst into the shop looking harried and was flanked on either side by Bellatrix's younger sisters Andromeda and Narcissa, the latter of the two very small and barely Hogwarts age._

" _Sorry mother, I was just looking," Bellatrix muttered, instantly flushing red in the face._

" _Looking? Not at the merchandise, I expect?" Druella Black huffed, glaring from Bellatrix to Voldemort's younger self, who had resumed examining the earrings. "Come on, then!" she snapped and Bellatrix stumbled off after her mother and younger sisters out of the shop, but she paused suddenly at the doorway and said in a resolute voice quiet enough her mother couldn't hear her, but loud enough that Tom Riddle and the older Voldemort could-"I'll write to you. I promise. Snake's honor," before disappearing behind her family._

 **-0000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-00000-0000-**

 _In the next memory, Voldemort found himself in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He took a seat on the right side, nearest the window, and waited for the inevitable occupants of the compartment. Then the door slid open, and three girls tumbled in, laughing madly at something. 14-year-old Bellatrix Black sat next to the invisible Voldemort and her sisters sat across from them-Andromeda, twelve, already had her Hogwarts robes on and her Slytherin badge pinned to the front, meanwhile, Narcissa, the youngest, seemed to have been about to start her very first year. Voldemort glanced curiously at Bellatrix, amused by her Muggle dress-ripped fishnet tights worn under a denim skirt. She was shrouded in a black leather jacket and kept picking at her fingernails, which were a violent shade of purple._

" _Let's play guess what house Cissy is going to get!"_

" _Oh come on Bella, not again!" Narcissa pouted. Her new black robes were so big on her that she had to keep rolling them up her arms even though she was probably already wearing the smallest size._

" _Yes, really Bella. It's not even a question. She'll be in Slytherin like the whole lot of us," groaned the middle sister, Andromeda, as if she weren't entirely too content with the notion. Voldemort had never seen Andromeda Black before-at least, not that he could remember and seeing her now, he thought she looked like Bellatrix's twin-though younger in face and body and with tawny curls instead of black and she was wearing glasses. He knew only a few things about this sister-that she'd been disowned by the Black family after she married a Muggleborn and that she'd given birth to a daughter who was now an Auror in the Order of the Phoenix. Did Bellatrix know, he wondered, even as young as 4th year, how her sister would turn out? He frowned. Bellatrix was studying her purple fingernails again and not even looking at Andromeda._

" _Of course; You're one to talk about that," she muttered. "You keep hanging around with Hufflepuffs-"_

" _Says you who was flirting with a shopkeeper!" Andromeda cut in and Voldemort knew she was referring to Bellatrix talking to Tom Riddle in Knockturn Alley. "Look at me! I'm Bellatrix Black and I could have any man I want because I like to boast my family's part of the sacred 28, but I'd rather flirt with a shopkeeper! Honestly!"_

" _Bella! Andromeda! Please...stop squabbling. Let's...talk about something else," said Narcissa calmly, ever the peace-keeper of her family. Probably because she was the only one of them family meant something to, reasoned Voldemort. Andromeda, the weak one, chose to pursue love-and Bellatrix? What did she choose?_

" _I don't think we have anything much else to talk about," grumbled Andromeda, before she whipped out a book and buried her nose in it._

" _You don't even know who that boy is! He's not just a shopkeeper!" Bellatrix exclaimed, throwing up her arms. Even then, Voldemort noticed, she didn't deny her feelings for him. "He's a politician-and he's becoming a very famous one at that," she sniffed disdainfully a little as she spoke. Narcissa's eyes widened in understanding._

" _I know who you're talking about! He's that man Mum and Dad have been reading in the Prophet!"_

 _Andromeda slammed her book shut and rounded on her youngest sister._

" _I know who he is and Cissy you shouldn't have even read a word of what he says. His name is Tom Riddle and he's a foul, horrid excuse for a-"_

" _I think he's brilliant," Bellatrix interrupted. "I told him I would write to him and I intend to. Tonight. When I can tell him all about my baby sister making Slytherin!" Andromeda scowled and returned to her reading while Narcissa flashed her oldest sister a rare smile._

" _I haven't read any of his interviews, Bella," she said quietly. "But if you like him-I mean -like- him, really like him, then you should definitely write to him. And if he does become Minister of Magic or something like that-I'm sure Mum and Dad would be alright to marry you off-"_

" _Marry me off? Don't you think it's a bit soon to be talking like that? We're friends-not even yet-but we will be, I'm sure of it." And then Bellatrix tossed her head back and laughed with her littlest sister as the sky darkened outside the train window and Andromeda Black continued to ignore her sisters._

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 _As she often did, Bellatrix had surprised Voldemort. She did write to him. A lot. They ended up writing back and forth all that year and the summer after and as the memory twisted into the next, he was not at all surprised to find himself standing in Lucius Malfoy's father Abraxas's drawing room, where he watched his younger self tattooing the Dark Mark on Bellatrix's left forearm the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts. He remembered this day well, too, but in his memory, he burned the Mark into her violently, while she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out. But the way Bellatrix remembered the afternoon wasn't like that at all. Voldemort felt a surge of disgust watching his younger self, still Tom Riddle then, rubbing her arm...almost...tenderly between strokes of his wand. Bellatrix was lying back on a silver-backed sofa, her arm propped up on pillows while Tom Riddle knelt beside her._

" _Does it hurt much?" he whispered. Bellatrix shook her head._

" _Not much, no...ack!" She drew back, but did not move her arm. Voldemort mused on how Bellatrix was the youngest Death Eater he had ever inducted, ever given the Mark, and one of the only female Death Eaters in the organization's history. How she'd begged him all year in her letters until he'd finally let up, even despite his veiled warnings of what was soon to come-what had already begun to set itself into motion._

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 _In the next memories, Voldemort watched 15-year-old Bellatrix return to Hogwarts somehow...different. She continued writing to him, vowed to recruit for him as he continued to gain power._

" _What do you mean you aren't sure?! What's there not to be sure about?!" Bellatrix growled into the ear of a scrawny and sallow-faced boy about her age. She and Lucius Malfoy had Severus Snape cornered in the Slytherin Common Room and Voldemort stood by the fireplace, watching them._

" _Tom Riddle is going to be legend. Surely you want to be on his right side, when it comes down to it," drawled Malfoy._

" _Going to be legend? Why he already is! And I know him well enough to know he's got no room in his ranks for halfway supporters. You're either all in or you're not!" hissed Bellatrix and Voldemort felt a swell of pride at her loyalty, even back then. She got to her feet and stormed off to the squat green armchairs by the fire and the memory shifted before Voldemort's eyes once more._

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 _Voldemort recognized the next memory instantly. They were in the grand drawing room of Lestrange Manor, though all the furniture had been cleared out and only the polished marble floor was visible. An afternoon of Death Eater training-Bellatrix's first, before she returned to Hogwarts for her seventh year. Voldemort strode about, glancing at twenty years younger pairs of his Death Eaters dueling each other. MacNair and Mulciber were practicing the Imperius curse on each other in one corner and in another, Crabbe and Goyle shot jets of red stunning spells at each other, one of which narrowly missed hitting an elegant silver and crystal chandelier hanging over the place where Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother Rabastan were working on shield charms. Finally, he saw his younger self down the end of the hall, his hair mussed and his wand pointed at Bellatrix herself, who had one hand on her stomach struggling to catch her breath._

" _You're not ready!" he bellowed._

" _Yes...I...am…"she choked out._

" _You're still a child!"_

" _I'm of age!"_

" _Barely! In any case, we'll try the curse again, slower."_

" _No!" Bellatrix exclaimed, straightening up at once. "Do whatever you will, kill me, fight me to death, kick me out...but don't you dare slow down for me!"_

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" _She can join up if she wants, but she shan't fight this war with them, Cygnus! I absolutely forbid it!"_

" _And just why not? It's a perfectly noble endeavor to undertake, Druella! She'll be on the right side of history!" Voldemort heard voices shouting-a man and a woman-as he materialized in a dark corridor with high ceilings. He saw at once the shadow of a teenage girl lingering outside a door, slightly ajar and streaking the hallway with a single beam of unfiltered light._

" _She is a young woman, Cygnus! It is not the place of a young woman to fight a man's fight! She'd be better off serving albeit a noble cause by marrying a good pureblooded death eater and having his children!" Bellatrix's mother shouted indignantly, her voice echoing out into the hall._

" _She's out of school! She can do what she likes!"_

" _Except it seems, be any better than the worst possible role model for her sisters! Really, Cygnus! You've always treated Bellatrix like a son, but it's three daughters you've got and I shan't have one of them running off to war at 18!" Druella Black shouted and the girl by the door took off running down the dark hall. Voldemort followed after her. They ran down a stone passageway until they reached a small staircase that led up to an italianette patio balcony where her sisters stood, looking out over the grounds of Black Manor._

" _I'm leaving. Tonight. Probably. I'm going to be with Tom, with the Dark Lord, where I belong!" Bellatrix proclaimed, her skin shining pearly and radiant in the moonlight._

" _You can't leave us, Bella!" Narcissa, probably about 14 or 15, rounded on her oldest sister, tears glistening in her large blue eyes. She stood stark in contrast against her two sisters, fair and blonde and small. Andromeda rolled her eyes, brown like Bella's._

" _She's in love with him, Cissy! She has been all this time. I guess I just never thought she'd choose him over us."_

" _I never thought I'd have to. Besides, I've seen the way you look at the Hufflepuff boy. But he's a Muggleborn, Andromeda. Id try to talk you out of it, but I know how you feel and I understand if you have to make the same choice one day...even if I could never agree with it."_

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 _Once again, the memory turned and Voldemort found himself in a grand an impressive bedroom. A dark wood bed with a violet canopy stood at its center and atop it, a woman laid covered in quilts and leaning up on pillows. Suddenly, the door banged open._

" _Mother! I came as soon as I got Father's owl!" Voldemort glanced from Bellatrix to the woman on the bed, unrecognizable as the once formidable Druella Black. Then, he remembered-hadn't Bellatrix's mother died from touching a cursed necklace sent to her by a member of the Order addressed to Bellatrix herself? This must have been just after, when the curse was beginning to spread, because Druella Black's skinhad turned an odd sort of blueish color._

" _Bella," she rasped._

" _Mother...you mustn't blame yourself for Andromeda." Voldemort watched Bellatrix kneel down at her mother's bedside , looking most like her current self of all the memories so far, in a long black dress with slits in the sleeves so her Dark Mark was plainly visible there on her arm. It must have been just after Andromeda graduated from Hogwarts and ran off with the mudblood boy. Bellatrix and Narcissa spoke often of the Black family's decision to disown her._

" _This wretched curse," Druella Black whispered. "I've got about a year left before it spreads to my heart and only one honorable daughter left...Narcissa, of course, is to marry the Malfoy boy when they leave school. But I won't live to see that day."_

" _Please! Mother!" Bellatrix pleaded, letting her left hand close around her mother's, whose eyes fell to the Mark on her daughter's arm. "Please...I can be honorable, too…"_

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" _My Lord, may I have a word?" Looking at the two of them standing there, Voldemort saw himself for the first time. He'd lost track of the years to other things, but he knew he must have been Voldemort by then. All traces of Tom Riddle were gone, his Horcruxes created, and Bellatrix, his servant, yet she stood there across from him with confidence and poise, even with such desperation in her eyes._

" _What?" young Voldemort snapped. He had a twisted look to him, something altogether inhuman that the older Voldemort prized._

" _You heard about my mother?"_

" _Yes. Unfortunate," replied young Voldemort, though he didn't sound like he thought it was unfortunate at all._

" _She wanted to see at least one of her daughters marry off well before she died and well, you know Andromeda is out of the picture and Cissy of course, is too young...and I thought...I mean, we get along well enough, we have so much in common-if we were to marry-"Bellatrix paused. It seemed she'd already developed the habit of shaking in his presence. For a minute or so, young Voldemort said nothing, then he began to laugh-not a real laugh, but the high, cold tone he'd long associated with real laughter._

" _If we were to marry!" he mocked harshly._

" _Well, I mean...it would solve the whole problem. I could make a respectable marriage and still be a fighting Death Eater-"_

" _Insolent bitch! Did it ever occur to your simple little mind that there may be more at stake than the skeletons in the Black family closet? You will make a choice and you will make it now! Be in my ranks as a servant or never speak to me again!" young Voldemort shouted and stormed from the room leaving Bellatrix alone with silent tears streaming down her face._

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 _The summer holidays had come and Narcissa was home from school. Nearly three months after the curse struck Druella Black, young Voldemort had, unbeknownst to anyone, arranged for Bellatrix to be married to Rodolphus Lestrange in the fall through...stern encouragement of the latter, who he knew harbored feelings for the female Death Eater. But the older Voldemort wouldn't know she was a Death Eater if he didn't know her, sitting on the edge of a delicate looking lattice bed in an all-white room that could only belong to the youngest Black sister, who paced the room, pausing every so often to glance out the window as if she were expecting someone._

" _Bella. Please. You must tell me...what's wrong?"_

" _I am to be married, Narcissa. October this year," Bellatrix replied, downcast eyes to the ground._

" _Oh Bella! That's brilliant! To Rodolphus Lestrange, right? Oh I knew it! He's fancied you for ages! But why aren't you happy?" Narcissa sat down on the edge of the bed beside her sister and draped an arm around her shoulders that Bellatrix promptly shook away._

" _You sound like him...the Dark Lord...when he heard. He said I should be happier. 'Isn't this what little pureblood girls from sacred families spend their growing up years dreaming about?' he wanted to know…"_

" _This is about him, isn't it?! You still love him...or, you think you do. And once you marry Roddy, that little love affair inside your head will have to end."_

" _It's not in my head!" Bellatrix spat. "He feels it, too. I know it. Only he doesn't want to admit it because he doesn't want to want me."_

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 _An overcast morning in October. The morning of Bellatrix Black and Rodolphus Lestrange's wedding. Bellatrix herself sat again in Narcissa Black's bedroom. Apparently she'd come home for the weekend to see her sister get married. Only the atmosphere in the room could have been more suited for a funeral. Bellatrix wore a white dress without much to do about it. Narcissa fussed about her...hair, makeup and the like. It was all very blurry, he supposed because Bellatrix hadn't bothered to remember it well. And her mother was there, though the skin around her eyes to her neck had faded from blue to black and it peeled away in places like stringy bits of dry glue. She was lying back on the bed in a deep red dress that concealed much of where the curse had spread and she just kept repeating,_

" _I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you, I'm so proud of you," over and over again, or at least, Bellatrix remembered it that way. She herself said only one thing:_

" _Make me beautiful for him," leaving it more than a little ambiguous who she was talking about...who exactly she wanted to be beautiful for._

 _It was all a blur to Voldemort...a very shoddy memory. If he didn't know Bellatrix better, he might've suggested it'd been tampered with._

 _Bellatrix made her vows to Rodolphus. Promised to have and to hold and to love him evermore, all whilst she peered into the audience through her veil, onbiously looking for someone._

" _In sickness and in health-"_

 _She was craning her neck now. Voldemort, the present Voldemort, paced the aisle looking at the guests in their seats surrounded by bushels of pale pink and white flowers. All their faces looked blurry, probably because Bellatrix hadn't even bothered to pay attention to who'd attended her wedding. He knew who she was looking for in the crowd as much as he knew she wouldn't find him. He was sure he'd received the invitation in plenty of time, but what did she expect? A Dark Lord attend a servant's wedding? He'd thrown the invitation into the fire where it belonged._

" _You may now kiss the bride-" Rodolphus gathered Bellatrix into his arms and Voldemort felt that fist-tightening sensation he'd grown accustomed to._

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 _Years passed and with them, more blurred memories as patches with the pieces missing. Death Eater meetings. Attacks. The first wizarding war. Druella Black's funeral and Cygnus Black's not shortly thereafter. He didn't get to see these too well-probably because he'd only taken the her memories that pertained to himself. He did get to see Andromeda's pink-haired baby daughter. Bellatrix got the owl with the photograph and birth announcement during a Death Eater meeting, but she'd thrown them straight into the fire just like he'd done with her wedding invitation. Narcissa married Lucius after her graduation when both of them had already joined the Death Eaters. Voldemort had even attended that wedding, albeit with some hesitation. And they'd had Draco of course...it was all very boring and cobbled together, like someone else's reconstruction of her life with all the truly important bits missing. And then Halloween, 1981. A day that was burned into his memory perhaps even more intently than it was into hers._

" _Are you coming to Barty's Halloween party, my Lord? Should be fun! The costume theme is ways to irritate his father...come on, a night off, surely-"_

" _No! That's my final word on the matter. Now-off!" younger Voldemort barked into her face. She drew back as if he'd stung her._

" _But...my Lord...where are you going?"_

" _That is not of your concern, is it, Bellatrix?" he replied cooly. And that was the last they spoke to each other before he set out for Godric's Hollow, alone._

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 _More memories. Blurry. But for a different reason. First, shock. Then a lot of doubt and screaming and then the tears. Lots of them. Falling down her face like rain. Voldemort watched and thought about everything he'd read on the subject...everything scientific, everything literal._

 _ **A tear: a drop of transparent, salty liquid secreted from the glands around the eyes.**_

 _ **To tear: to pull or rip something apart or to pieces with force.**_

 _He, Voldemort, had torn himself to pieces...seven pieces, in fact. And his eyes were like any others, yet, this magic, so simple even Muggles could produce it, continued to elude him. Why? He watched her collapse to the floor away from the prying eyes of the other Death Eaters, and break into pieces._

" _No! No! No! No!" she shouted to no one. She threw things. Kicked walls. Sent curses at the windows. Screamed that she would die. Anything to bring him back. But then she'd shut her eyes tight, wish hard and open them to find herself alone in a room with bare walls and herself, very much alive, without him. "Tom! My Lord! Please! V...V...Voldemort!" she cried out, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth. But nothing would bring him back to her. Voldemort wanted to tell her that he wasn't dead. That he was everywhere and nowhere without a body. He wanted to tell her not to land herself in Azkaban...with her help, with his most loyal by his side, surely he could come back sooner. But why wasn't she looking for him? Didn't she trust the magnitude of his power?_

 _But then she was with Rodolphus and Rabastan and Barty Crouch jr, torturing those two Aurors, the Longbottoms, about his whereabouts. But she wasn't into torture like she was before...it was like she was trying to get caught. Or was she was ripped into too many pieces to care anymore. Not unlike Voldemort himself._

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 _Voldemort stood in the center of a large square room, surrounded on all sides by rows of highly raised benches, like in an arena. He knew this place only from the memories of others, many of whom comprised the crowd of about two hundred or so witches and wizards taring down at him now. Only they weren't staring at him, per se, more like through him while they waited for someone else. He strode in a circle around the room's central objects, 4 high-backed stone chairs with chains on their arms that all the others in the room were looking down at._

 _A door in the corner opened and Voldemort watched the Dementors enter the courtroom with four people between them-one for each chair: Barty Crouch jr, white-faced and ill-looking; Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, furrow-browed and solemn; and then of course Bellatrix. Young, vibrant, shiny-haired Belaltrix sauntered towards one of the chairs like it was a throne. She sat down and the chains came to life, closing instantly around her exposed wrists._

" _You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law for a crime so heinous that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court. We have heard evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of the capture and torture of Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom...believing them to have knowledge of the whereabouts of your exiled Master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."_

" _Say his name, scum! Say it and do not besmirch the identity of the great wizard he was and is! Send me to Azkaban! I'll wait! He is alive and he will come for me...for all of us who remain loyal!"_

 _The jury convicted the four of them to life imprisonment by unanimous vote._

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 _Bellatrix's cell in Azkaban prison was cool and damp. It was hard to imagine anyone spending 14 years here and not being ruined for it but then again, Bellatrix was not just anyone. The cell itself was barely larger than a broom cupboard and held only a cot, a toilet and wash basin. He recognized it immediately as part of the maximum security, high isolation ward. It was in the part of the prison more hevaily guarded by dementors than any other. And then there was Bellatrix on the cot, so different from the Bellatrix at the trial who was clean and proud and radiant. This Bellatrix was lying curled in a half-moon shape under a thin and rat-bitten blanket. Her hair was so matted together that it didn't even look as long as he knew it had to be, and she was so thin that her collarbones jutted out at odd angles and she shivered even though her face glistened with sweat._

 _Days passed. Weeks blurred together. He recognized the progression of years only by how rapidly she aged from the young woman who'd asked him so desperately to marry her. And each time the dementors entered her cell whether to feed or to torture her, her reaction was always the same._

 _She would whisper his name-his true name, Voldemort, with conviction and say:_

" _I refuse to be anything but happy" and then "he will not forget about me...I know it."_

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 _Winter 1996. The walls of the tiny cell crumbled to dust while Bellatrix slept. Voldemort watched a two years younger version of himself (could have been a mirror image) stride through the wreckage and place a cold hand on one of her wrists as she, barely conscious, opened her eyes and blinked up at him. Admittedly, he didn't know where his memory of the night ended and hers began._

" _My Lord…" Bellatrix whispered, her voice cracking from much dissuse._

" _Yes, Bella. When you didn't come the night I returned, I thought perhaps you had abandoned us...until I heard of all you sacrificed to try to find me," memory Voldemort said as he cradled her head in his arms._

" _I knew you'd come. I always knew," she rasped. She sounded like she'd been crying, but her eyes, the color of cognac, were hollow and tearless._

" _How could I not, when you and your husband alone tried to find me? Now come, let us leave this place." He held out his arm for her to grab onto so he could apparate them to Malfoy Manor. She was the only prisoner he'd ever done this for, the only servant he'd ever side-along apparated...because she alone was truly loyal. She was the only one who acted not out of fear, but out of...love. Weal, sopping, unrequited, repulsive love. And he'd spent the past two years trying tirelessly to fault her for it._

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 _He forced himself to watch the rest, even though he knew how it would all unfold by now._

 _Spring 1996:_

 _Voldemort pulled Bellatrix Lestrange frome the wreckage of a statue in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She was convinced she would be punished for being a part of the failed mission to retrieve Trelawney's first prophecy, just as he was sure he would punish her. But sometime after assigning Draco Malfoy to kill Dumbledore to punish his father, Bellatrix asked to meet with him privately and he was eerily reminded once more of the night she asked him to marry her._

 _~"My Lord, may I have a word?"_

 _~"What?"_

 _~"I heard it, you know. Not the whole thing..but bits of it."_

 _~"What?"_

 _~"The prophecy. You're right...you've got to be the one to kill him, in the end."_

 _He couldn't hardly punish her after that._

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 _July 1997: Sky over Little Whinging. The tiny spider, legs splayed out, falling._

 _August 1997: The blood traitor wedding. Bellatrix dressed as her sister Andromeda, running from the niece she tried to kill in Voldemort's name, so he would be proud of her. The two of them, sitting down for dinner together in Slytherin Manor._

 _~"Have you just brought me here to mock me and make me feel bad about myself?"_

 _~"No. I am not trying to mock you or make you feel bad about yourself. In fact, I have been doing some thinking and you have indeed proven yourself to be my most loyal and faithful Death Eater, if not, even, my favorite Death Eater."_

 _Halloween 1997: The hall outside the dining room at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix stumbling down the hall towards Voldemort and Narcissa while enchanted jewel spiders scuttled down her cheeks._

 _~"Voldemort."_

 _~"My most loyal."_

 _~"I love you."_

 _~"I know."_

 _~"I've always loved you."_

 _~"I know." And as present Voldemort watched their lips meet, however sloppily, he really did know._

 _Christmas 1997:_

 _~"If that's truly how you feel, then I need you to teach me."_

 _~"Teach you what?"_

 _~"How to feel like that."_

 _January 1998: The Red Room at Slytherin Manor._

 _~"Bellatrix. Please. Listen. I need you to make me cry. Sadden me. Inspire me. Affect me on an emotional level such that I am moved to tears for the first time in my life."_

 _February 1998: Wool's Orphanage in London._

 _~"Maybe I did this because I thought...in a different life...in someone else's lives, we could be happy together. Forget happy. We could be together, period...and knowing that, is such a grand and wonderful torture…"_

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Voldemort drew his head from the Pensieve and took a deep breath. Droplets of liquid memories dripped back into the shimmering surface of the basin as Voldemort's own study, in its present incarnation, in his own home, blurred into view. He barely had time to regain his bearings before he became cognizant of the little platinum serpent on his desk hissing without pause. Snape was requesting permission to apparate inside and give his weekly Hogwarts updates. But Voldemort needed to have a different conversation. He pressed his own Dark Mark and sought Snape's thoughts in his mind.

"In," he hissed and his second-most loyal servant materialized before him.

"I've been to see her, my Lord. She's not in a good way," Severus said when talk finally came around to the subject of Bellatrix.

"Yes. I had wondered about that," murmured Voldemort absently. "Especially after she missed the last meeting." He hadn't really expected her to show given the fact that she might not even remember it was happening, but save for when she was in Azkaban, she had yet to miss one.

"Yes, she has holed herself up in her late aunt's home, talking to an old woman's portrait and spending most days wrapped up in bed. Yaxley thinks she's being punished for the escape...Narcissa and Lucius haven't exactly been arguing the rumor," Severus explained. Voldemort frowned. He'd only taken her memories of _him,_ and had done so with intention only to temporarily punish her, not to permanently alter her. "And what of you, my Lord?" Snape asked.

"What do you mean?"

"In three weeks, the Seer's prophecy is going to come to fruition and-"

"You think I could have forgotten?" Voldemort interrupted. He made to keep his tone quiet and even, but imposing all the same. He'd been thinking on this prophecy for almost a year and now he was mere weeks from the inevitable battle and had at his disposal only one person who was admittedly willing to die for him. Her memories had proven at least that much. Severus Snape didn't say anything and was probably too afraid to. "I know who the prophecy refers to. There is only one it could refer to…" Voldemort said out loud, mostly to himself as if hearing it from his own lips might...ignite something within him. It didn't. But something in his life did feel somehow...empty. For just under four months, she'd lived there, too. Lived _with_ him, alongside him. Eaten meals with him. Brushed past him on the stairs. Sat beside him on the sofa in the Red Room by the fire...

Even the Death Eater meeting was different. It'd gone well enough. Rowle had even managed to kill Bellatrix's muggle-born brother-in-law, Ted Tonks, but the news was announced without even an echo of her laughter through the cold, dim room. And all of those memories...she'd been an active participant in his life for so long...truly his most devoted servant, if anything...so her sudden absence seemed wrong, like the very state of everything had been turned upside down.

Voldemort's eyes flickered once to the glass case in the corner of the room, inside of which perched the enchanted rose with only a few of its petals remaining. He turned back to Snape.

"Severus, I've got a task for you."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Bring me Bellatrix at once," Voldemort replied. Snape's eyes widened.

"You're going to return her memories?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. I expect she's been punished enough. Besides, it will be very difficult for her to fulfill her...destiny...if she doesn't remember the reason for it."

"My Lord...if I may...you plan to bring her here and give her back all her memories of you so that she remembers her... _feelings._..for you, just in time for you to let her die?" Voldemort thought Snape was treading on unstable ground.

"Severus, I thought you found Bellatrix to be repulsive. Surely you haven't come to _care_ for her…"

"No. I do find her a bit repulsive...but I do know also what it feels like to love like that...and this plan...forgive me my Lord, is a horrendous thing to do to anyone...even someone like her." The expression on his face was almost pitiable. Almost.

"Yes. It will be a shame to let her go, admittedly," Voldemort confessed. "To have someone so profoundly loyal is rare and her sacrifice will not go unappreciated."

"Surely, there is another way."

"You know that there isn't. Now, bring her to me at once."

 _ **~"Never have I been a blue calm sea, I have always been a storm"~**_


	17. Chapter 17: So Afraid

**Chapter 17: So Afraid**

 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix was afraid when sheheard knocking at the door-so afraid that she dropped the glass she'd been holding, sending it smashing to the floor. She was ashamed to admit that most things scared her lately and had ever since she'd woken up on her sister's living room floor with a tattoo on her arm unsure of why it or she was there to begin with.

The knocking persisted. Then her aunt's portrait on the wall called out to her:

"Bella! Bella, dear! There's someone at the door!"

"I know, Aunt Walburga! Kreacher!" she called out for the house elf to get the door. She didn't know exactly what she was afraid of, but after she'd described her amnesia to her aunt's portrait, Aunt Walburga had told her it sounded like she'd been hit with a very powerful memory charm and she didn't want whomever had done it to come back and take anything more from her.

"It's the Snape fellow, Miss Bellatrix," she heard the elderly elf croak from out in the hall.

"Alright, let him in," she called back with only some reserve. She'd gone to school with Severus Snape-she remembered that much. And he'd been one of the first and only people to come and check in with her since the amnesia. She also had the sneaking suspicion that he knew what happened to her and she was determined to find out, with force if necessary.

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"What do you remember about the night you lost your memory?" Severus asked rather ironically. Bellatrix raised her eyebrows. The two of them were seated in the second floor parlor at Number 12 Grimmauld Place, on her aunt's dusty gray-patterned chaise in front of the Black family tapestry. And just as he'd done the first time he visited, Severus was asking her about the night everything became new again.

"I already told you! I woke up...sort of...at my sister Narcissa's and it was like I blacked out or something...except the huge patches of gaping nothing in my memory never came back."

"Do you remember why you were at the Malfoy's?"

"To see my nephew who was home on holid-why are you asking me this?!"

"Yet you blacked out and your memories are gone from you. Do you really think your reasons for visiting could have been so innocent? Think, Bella, think! Doesn't it bother you how little you remember of everything?"

"Should it?" she asked, knowing Snape was holding something from her, but also not knowing if she wanted it back.

"We're going to go and see someone, someone who can help you," Snape was saying, but she interjected before she could stop herself.

"No! Well...not yet anyway…" Snape stared at her and set his tea down on the end table. He raised an eyebrow as if silently willing her to continue.

"What if…" she began hesitantly. "What if someone took away all your happiest memories and in doing so, also took away your very worst. Or at least, you thought they did. How would you feel?" Snape blinked back at her and pushed his greasy hair out of his eyes.

"I expect I'd feel much like you do right now," he replied. Bellatrix frowned.

"You don't understand. I could tell you about myself if you asked. I could tell you about growing up in the Black family, my two sisters, my time at Hogwarts as a Slytherin, my marriage, but it would undoubtedly be the most boring life story ever told by anyone, because I don't remember any of the good parts!" she exclaimed, pulling anxiously at chunks of her hair as she did so.

"And why wouldn't you want all that back?"

"Because...as scary as it was not knowing, I've had the opportunity to forget anything that has ever caused me great pain...I could re-do my life...be anyone…"

"Yet you've also forgotten that which has caused you to feel great love."

"Don't you get it? For the first time in my life I can be and feel...neutral...before my life clutters up with new memories. Or perhaps I'll stay neutral, as you have done."

Snape drew back as harshly and suddenly as if she'd thrown ice on him.

"You think me neutral? You think I have not known the depths of sorrow and joy!?"

"How could you?!" Bellatrix spat back, considerably more heated than she'd intended. Then she let her voice drop to a faint whisper. "Whenever anything has ever really counted in your life, you've just slithered back into your hole…" She expected him to shout or try to curse her or even get up and leave. What she did not expect was for him to extend his right hand to her. She shifted her gaze down to it, feeling no desire to touch it, but interested all the same. His palms were smooth, like they hadn't known much labor, his fingers unnaturally long and bony...reminding her of something, but she wasn't sure what. "What's your point with that?" she demanded.

"Anyone other than you would have taken my hand. I was making sure you're still Bellatrix."

"Why?!"

"Because the Bellatrix I grew up with did not shun or hide from love."

She frowned. "I didn't...love my husband, did I?"

"I don't think so, no."

"I loved...somebody else…" she trailed off. "Only I've been made to forget all about it."

"Yes," he replied stonily.

"Who?!"

"I cannot tell you."

"And just why not?!" she spat darkly.

"Because it's for him to tell you, not me."

"You...you weren't neutral...you loved Lily Evans, didn't you?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes wide with sudden realization. "That redheaded girl who was a year behind us...in Gryffindor...you loved her!"

Snape didn't say anything right away and Bellatrix seriously doubted he would. It was just...the way of Snape...too cowardly to admit to admit to something like that. Much easier to slither back into his hole.

"No," Snape answered finally, to Bellatrix's utter shock.

"What? I could have sworn you-"

"No," he continued. "I still love her. And I never stopped...Now, come on, we've somewhere to be if you want your memories."

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Bellatrix's feet collided roughly with hard stone the color of taupe that made up the floor of what had probably once been a grand hall. The walls were made of dusty umber masonry and bracketed with dimly flickering gas lamps in shiny black holders. There was no furniture in the room, but a gray and black leaf-patterened carpet swept across the hall and led to a stop at a beautiful spiral staircase.

She knew better than to ask where they were, but she followed Snape to the stairs, her heart beating excitedly despite the solemn atmosphere of the place. The whole time they ascended the winding steps, Snape said nothing but, "he's waiting for you upstairs," and her heart beat faster.

At the top of the second floor landing, they faced, curiously, a portrait of Salazar Slytherin (head of the house she'd been in at Hogwarts) flanked by a heavy-looking door on either side.

"I feel like I've been here before," she whispered aloud before she could catch herself. Snape selected the door to the right of the portrait and knocked three times. He received no audible answer, but nodded all the same and pushed the door open.

When Bellatrix entered the room behind him, she became cognizant of only an overwhelming amount of gray light. After a few seconds, however, when her senses had adjusted, she noticed that it was not gray light, but white flamelight emnating from the very bright gaslamps on the walls that contrasted sharply against the dull gray surroundings of the wall and floor. Bellatrix followed Snape deeper into a vast room lined on the sides with glass cases containing all number of weapons and treasures, all of them silver and gleaming in the light. But what was truly magnificent about the room sat at its center-a perfectly round fire pit about the size of a sundial encrusted with tumbled black gems glittering like beetle eyes. At the center, the fire pit caved into a crater filled with emeralds that the magical flames rose off of in steamy silver and green spirals.

She would have stopped and stared at it, transfixed for hours, had Snape not lightly tapped her shoulder and pointed into the back right corner of the large room where, unmistakeably, a man stood over a black cauldron brewing some kind of potion. Her eyes widened. He wasn't like any man she ahd ever seen before...and yet...She cocked her head to one side as if to view him better. He was slightly on the tall side, with a slim muscular build and cloaked in thick black robes down to his ankles. She couldn't see his face, but she could make out the top of his head-unnaturally pale, bald, shiny and completely smooth in an almost reptilian way. He seemed to radiate power, dominance, and undeniable sureness in himself that made her think he was wonderful. And beautiful, too, albeit in an unconventional sort of way.

In that moment, she was sure of only one thing-she wanted to know this man.

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 **(Voldemort)**

Voldemort watched Bellatrix making her way through the Armory with Severus at her side. Only she didn't carry herself the same way as the Bella he was used to. She looked fearful and overwhelmed, like the room was swallowing her up in a haze of green smoke. Voldemort glanced down at his cauldron, which was now issuing a plume of silver mist as the liquid within turned the characteristic color and consistency of blue chalk. He held up the flask of Bellatrix's memories, examining them with caution. One more counter clockwise stir or so of the potion and it would be time to add them.

"My Lord," said Severus abruptly. He and Bellatrix stood before Voldemort on the other side of the cauldron now.

"The Remembrance Drought is almost ready," he said. Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"Remembrance...you mean-"

"Yes. Are you ready to be reunited with your memories, Bella?" Voldemort prompted as he tipped the tiny flask into the potion, watching it change before his eyes from chalk-blue to deep royal navy.

He expected her to bow before him, or if she didn't know enough to do that, at least express some sort of joy about her impending reunion with the rest of her. What he did -not- expect was for her to pull her wand (one of the cherry spares) out of her sleeve and point it at him.

"You're the one!?" she demanded. "You're the one who stole my memories-you're the one who did this to me!" she shrieked in the same dulcet, manic tones she often used with those she was about to torture. "Well, I'll get you, I'll-cruci-"

"Stupefy!" Voldemort bellowed, not bothering to find out if she had it in her to torture him or not. Bellatrix crumpled to the floor, but Snape caught her before she hit the slate stone, hoisting her up rather awkwardly so that she dangled by his side like a cheap marionette doll.

"Open her mouth," Voldemort rasped as he spooned out the first scoop of potion. Albeit with some difficulty, Severus wedged Bellatrix's mouth open with one hand while still half-supporting her upright with the other. Scoop by scoop, Voldemort shoveled potion between the unconcious witch's lips, careful not to let any of it spill. All the while, Severus's face remained crinkled in an expression of disgust and loathing as if he half anticipated Bellatrix would awake at any second and bite down on his fingers. It would have likely been asking too much to have expected Bellatrix to just drink it down without some sort of a commotion. She wasn't his most prized Death Eater for nothing.

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Once he had given her all of the Remembrance Drought, he set the little flask back down on a long table along the back wall that he used for preparing complicated potions.

"What is to be expected, Severus?" he asked the former Hogwarts Potions Master.

"She must be placed somewhere where she shan't be disturbed, not even by the slightest sound. The Remembrance Drought will keep her asleep, but only just. If she is to wake before the potion has fully run its course and her memories have reabsorbed, the consequences would be ...disastrous," Severus explained gravely with a happen to glance at Bellatrix , whose head rested against her own shoulder as she breathed evenly and settled into her potion-induced sleep. Voldemort beckoned for Severus to hand her off to him, as levitating her would be too dangerous-she could fall and wake up. Taking her into his arms, Voldemort used one hand to point the Elder wand at the both of them and the other to dismiss Severus with a harried halfwave around Bellatrix's sleeping form. Then, with no hesitation, Voldemort apparated Bellatrix to the one part of the Manor where he knew she'd be most comfortable.


	18. Chapter 18: Wasn't There Before

**Chapter 18: Something That Wasn't There Before**

 **(Voldemort)**

Voldemort stood over the bed and looked down at Bellatrix resting comfortably, entwined in the silky gray blankets. Every so often, she would let out a choked back snore and Voldemort would manage some small effort at a smile. His gaze shifted now to the rest of his bedroom-the Master bedroom at Slytherin Manor and the largest and gaudiest of all the sleeping quarters it boasted. Like everything else in the Manor, most of the furnishings were dark-colored or silver or green (Slytherin's colors, naturally). But though most rooms were floored in stone, this one in contrast, was not only fully carpeted, but carpeted in a pure down-soft white that felt airy when walked on, like a cloud.

There was a window, tall and church-like, on the farthest left wall, but its thin silver stained glass cast any light that entered the room in an eerie haunted glow. The most stunning and ornate feature of the room was the bed itself: a heavy dark walnut piece adorned with carvings of serpents slithering along the head and footboard, each boasting an eye or pair of eyes made of polished cuts of green tourmaline.

The bed's canopy was black, of course, and stretched out over the sides of the bed like dementor shrouds, not quite concealing its sleeping occupant from view. Voldemort glanced at the pewter watch on his wrist, where several hands shaped like moons met with small discolored pictures of constellations to tell the time. Nearly two hours had passed since he'd first begun to administer the Remembrance Drought to Bellatrix and everything he'd read about the tricky litle potion said that when brewed correctly, the drinker should wake up between hours two and three with full recollection of all addled memories.

He gripped the handle of the Elder wand tensely, wondering if she would wake up violent, and thought again to her memories he'd experienced the other day in the Pensieve, and of the small wiry girl who sought desperately to play Chaser on his Quidditch team. He knew enough of and about Bellatrix that he could fill in what information the memories he took from her did not contain. How she'd made the Slytherin team in her second year, but didn't play Chaser for long, as she began to show great skill as a Beater, the position she played well until she graduated. He knew that her best subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts and that her worst had been Charms because she thought it was worthless. How she'd earned 9 O.W.L.s (one in everything except for Muggle Studies, which she'd taken for a laugh), and pursued N.E.W.T. level coursework in Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Potions, Herbology, Ancient Runes and even Alchemy, after telling the Ministry of Magic career counselor she wanted to be a Potioneer, even though all her friends knew it was her true ambition to be Voldemort's best Death Eater. She dated Rowle in 5th year and Nott after him in 6th, but just as with Rodolphus, she never loved them like she said she did.

He knew she cried when her beloved owl died, but not when her mother did. He knew how Rodolphus and Bellatrix had once gotten into a row because he wanted a child and she didn't, because Voldemort was the one she came to about it first, even before Narcissa.

He stared down at her now with a surge of fondness that swelled when her position shifted on the bed and her eyelids began to flutter.

"Bella?" His prompting was met with a groggy "mmm" in response. Voldemort knelt down by the bed so that his face was level with hers. "Bellatrix?" he asked again, a little more loudly now that he knew she was awake.

Suddenly, she opened her eyes and stared directly at him. For a moment or so, they just looked at each other like that, neither of them even blinking until finally, Bellatrix broke the silence.

"My Lord," she whispered and Voldemort was relieved. Her calling him "my Lord" meant that the potion must have worked and even though she knew he had been the one to take her memories in the first place, she wasn't trying to kill or crucio him now that she recalled the...friendship...of sorts that stood the test of time between them.

"My Lord...Why?" she whispered again.

"You think yourself so far above the others that you are beyond being punished?" he retorted, but somehow more to himself than to her, as if he had to justify it to himself-because really, now that she had her memories back, what was all of it but a small punishment (for the escape at Malfoy Manor)? And a much less severe one than if he'd used the Cruciatus Curse on her or forced her into a dangerous mission she was doomed to fail, as he'd done with Lucius Malfoy's son, right? He stopped himself and tried to forget he was planning to do exactly that to her in a couple of weeks.

"You were punishing me," Bellatrix mumbled as if she didn't believe it.

"Yes, now I strongly encourage you not to press the matter or I will do so again," he said quietly and something indiscernable flashed across her features before she promptly turned away and faced out into the bedroom.

"Where is this?" she asked, probably trying to change the subject, for which Voldemort was grateful.

"Have you no ideas?"

"Are we...Are we in another room of your home, my Lord?" she flushed bright red as she said it, like she was immediately embarrassed to have asked and he didn't understand why she should be. She'd lived in Slytherin Manor herself for three months; it was as good as her home, too. "I mean, it might not be-if it is, it's not a part I've ever been to before," she went on. Voldemort smirked.

"That's because you haven't. Your first instinct was correct. We are indeed in the Manor, on the third floor, in...my personal sleeping quarters." He braced himself for her reaction and was not disappointed.

"Your...but then...am I...this...this...is YOUR BED?!" she gasped finally, looking scandalized and excited all at once. He nodded.

"Don't dwell on it," he said quickly, but he didn't necessarily say she'd never be there again. "Do you need anything?" he asked.

"Not particularly...I might take some of these off, y'know," she said, indicating the blankets. "It's a bit…"she trailed off, gesturing once again to the blankets and then to the heavy fabric of the dress she was wearing, the one she'd shown up in.

"You don't have to wear that if you don't want to. I mean, that is to say, I can fetch you something else." He tilted his head to one side to look at her properly, suddenly feeling very hot, too, even though he didn't have any blankets over him. She blinked at him and he studied her eyes, the curving sweep of them accented by a thin line of shiny black makeup. Her ever abundant hair was falling behind her over the pillows and all around her, framing her face like a shadow. She was a very beautiful woman, there was simply no denying it. And even if he didn't love her, hadn't her memories convinced him that her love to him was as real and loyal as her willingness to die for him? Didn't she deserve...something...from him for the sacrifice he was soon going to have to ask of her? He realized he was justifying himself again and just as before, he didn't know why. He sat down on the edge of the bed without really thinking about it. She blinked up at him again and drew one hand to her shoulder as if to pull down a sleeve of her dress. He brushed her arm away and then placed his own hand there. He wasn't really thinking anymore and kind of felt like he was watching from outside his body, but strangely enough, he didn't mind at all.

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 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix looked at Voldemort's hand on her shoulder and felt her breath catch in her throat.

"My Lord…"

"Haven't I told you enough times...to call me Voldemort?" He asked, but his tone sounded more pleasant and tender than harsh. She shut her eyes without meaning to, but it was probably habitual since these were the kinds of scenes she was used to imagining in her dreams. Mere illusions that dissolved when she reached out to touch them. She felt Voldemort's long fingers over the right sleeve of her dress. He pulled it down and slid her arm out of it like a well-practiced musician upon his instrument. His hand found her other shoulder. She wanted to see it there upon her, to capture the photo of it in her mind forever (or at least until the next time she did something worth punishing). But then she was afraid to open her eyes again, lest she have to discover the illusion destroyed.

He slid her left arm out of its sleeve, his thumb and forefinger lingering momentarily over the Dark Mark he himself had tattooed there, so many years ago. A tiny moan escaped between her lips which she had no control over. Instantly, she clapped a hand over her mouth like a child who'd just said a very bad word. She felt his hand move away.

 _That's it, Bella,_ she thought vitriolically. Now she'd done it. Now she'd ruined it-reluctantly, she opened her eyes...but there he was, still peering over her.

"It's okay, Bella," he said and didn't dare ask what, but could only guess. Okay to want him? Okay to enjoy his touch? Okay to open her eyes and confront the reality that he was there, so close to finally climbing into bed with her as she'd played out in her mind for decades? A surge of warmth seemed to spread through her that had nothing to do with the dress or the blankets. It was a comfortable kind of warmth-like drinking hot tea or having her favorite soup after being outside on the coldest day of winter. Warmth like the day she made the Quidditch team, the first time she held her nephew in her arms and longed for a baby of her own-a warmth like her first kill as a Death Eater or the day she was able to defend Voldemort in court in front of hundreds of people. A warmth she'd never felt in bed with her husband or any other. And then the warmth was spreading, down her throat, into her chest, down her arms and fingers, past her stomach, where it settled quite comfortably (and at the same time uncomfortably-in a way she didn't have words for) in the lower region of her body, right between her legs.

Her hands found Voldemort's on their own and rather daringly, she placed them on either side of her chest, over the dress that still wasn't pulled down as far as it could be. He slid it down to her waist in one fluid motion where the material gathered around her in a smothering sort of way that made her want to pull it all off and be done with it already. Yes, this room was getting very hot. She wished she was wearing nicer lingerie. Had she known or even suspected when she was leaving her aunt's former home with Severus that afternoon, that she was going to end up in bed with the only person she'd ever truly longed to be in bed with, she would have went for something different. As it stood, she was wearing only a plain black lingerie set without her usual corset and lacy ribboned emsembles. All the same, he had nothing to compare it to because he'd never seen this much of her before, so there was no reason he would notice. But she was admittedly nervous anyway.

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 **(Voldemort)**

Voldemort could feel Bellatrix's heart beating through her flushed skin as his hands cupped her breasts the way they'd done in the dreams he sometimes had of her. He ran his fingers the direction of the curve of each of them in turn. He reached around her back, feeling like he was outside of his body again and watched those same fingers (were they the same?) undo the clasp of her brassiere. A shudder coursed through her so subtle that he might not have noticed it had they not been touching. He felt strange. The last woman he'd been in bed with didn't make him feel strange, but maybe she just wasn't as pretty as Bellatrix. Or maybe they just didn't know each other well enough. He still wouldn't say he loved Bellatrix, but he was going to miss being loved _by_ her when the prophecy came to fruition. Not exactly the same thing she wanted, but possibly the closest he would ever be capable of. Good enough? For him, yes. For her, probably not ever. And he wasn't used to not being everything.

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 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix's bra fell away and she pushed it aside so its plainness could soon be forgotten. Voldemort's red eyes burned into her bare chest and she loved that he was looking at her. She didn't even have to bother wondering if he liked what he saw. After all, everyone did. She frowned though, when she remembered he probably wouldn't be touching or looking at her for very much longer, that his hands would go away when his eyes did, the moment over, the illusion destroyed.

"What's wrong?" he whispered.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," she replied serenely and shut her eyes again to preserve it, thinking of all the times she'd daydreamed in secret, shroud firmly around her mind, about a moment like this, only she didn't care if he could see her thoughts this time-in fact, she even wanted him to.

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 **(Voldemort)**

Bellatrix's breasts felt like putty between his fingers. A squishy sensation that gave way to billowing softness. It was all, admittedly, very pleasant, a lot like he'd imagined. He leaned further over her, pressing his lips against her forehead, not sure if he wanted to kiss her or not. She decided faster than he did and suddenly, she was kissing his neck, his chin, his cheeks, everywhere but his lips-and all he felt was very aware of the angularity of his own face. But he didn't want her to stop.

"Voldemort?"

"Yes?"

"Never again. Please," she begged. "No matter how much you hate me...I couldn't survive if you did that again." He assumed she meant the taking of her memories.

"Never again," he agreed, pulling her as close to him as he could manage with all his clothes still on. He didn't hate her-how could he? When he felt so...powerful...here with her. Here he was, not even doing any magic and still able to resort the strongest Death Eater there ever was, to the trembling woman before him.

"Different kind of magic," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing." He noticed his own heart beating in a way he hadn't before. Was this how she felt all the time? Was this how it felt to be vulnerable, weak, human, mortal...normal? He pushed the thought away. He wasn't any of those things anymore than he ever wanted to be. But he needed to know.

"One question, Bellatrix?"

"Anything, my Lor..V..Voldemort."

"Why not try to love someone who might love you back? Someone capable of loving you back?"

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 **(Bellatrix)**

Bellatrix pushed his hands away. The illusion shattered.

"Stop insulting me."

"I'm not," he replied evenly, but she was bothered he'd even asked.

"It's insulting to me...rather, I feel as if it's insulting-" she paused, wanting to choose her words carefully. "...to suggest I'd ever try that again."

"You're talking about your marriage to Rodolphus?" Bellatrix quickly averted her eyes, which he must have taken for an answer in the affirmative, because he pressed on with a brash "Why not?" But Bellatrix still didn't have an answer for him. How could he ever begin to understand? He was the most powerful Dark wizard of all time and still wasn't as bad as she was. Everything malicious he'd ever done was for the greater good-of their movement, of the Wizarding World-but everything Bellatrix had ever done had been for the approval of one man. Well, not exactly, but what difference did it make if everyone else saw it that way, even Voldemort himself? Could she lie in bed with Voldemort and have him inside of her when she'd allowed the only person who'd felt the same way about her (so richly in love), to die so effortlessly?

"Because it's you I want," she answered finally, still not meeting Voldemort's eyes. "More than that, it's you I love. You I've always loved...and I don't want that to go away. And maybe in a way…" she trailed off, having begun to tread on very thin ground indeed. Her eyes flashed to Voldemort, looking at her expectantly. One of many wonderful, desirable qualities of Voldemort, being how he'd always been willing to listen to her, when he never seemed to be quite so patient with anyone else.

"...maybe in a way it's what I deserve," she continued nervously. "Not talking about you of course, but the fact that you'll never be able to feel it in return. If you've seen the memories, then you've seen what it has put me through," she went on, gaining confidence when he didn't reach for his wand or open his mouth to interrupt. "All of it-the good, the bad, and the batshit...it has made me, well, me. I've loved you longer than I've loved myself. And that's more valuable to me than any experience I ever shared with my late husband."

She watched for any reaction from Voldemort, but he was still watching her intently, with one clasped warmly over her left shoulder, so she went on.

"You've taught me all I know about the Dark Arts-been my mentor, my confidante, my friend, longer than anyone save maybe Narcissa. And losing you...even for just a short time, losing all memory of you, was like losing a bit of myself...more than a bit, it was like losing a lot of myself...but who am I to think you could love me back, when I put Rodolphus through all the same things-the same small joys and nights like this one given and then snatched away...the same pain, the same dry longing...but when he died that night in Little Whinging, the last thing he saw, was that it was you I chose to save. Not him. Not even myself. Don't you see? All of me is so seriously fucked up. How could I ever deserve to be loved after that?"

She finished her sad lament, not knowing what to expect from Voldemort, wanting anything but pity. It'd be okay if he was angry, as long as he didn't think she was weak. But he didn't say anything or project into her thoughts, just kept looking at her as he had been with what could have been a twinge of distant sadness in his eyes, though she was willing to admit she'd probably imagined it.

~ _ **To stand outside your virtue,**_

 _ **No one could ever hurt you~**_


	19. Chapter 19: Say Goodbye

Chapter 19: Say Goodbye To Me; Say Goodbye To You

(Bellatrix)

"BELLATRIX!" She heard him bellow from the floor below. She almost didn't want to go down there...she couldn't remember if she'd ever heard him so angry. "BELLATRIX!" He yelled out again and his voice cracked at the end of her name. Something was wrong. She dropped the biscuit she was eating back onto its plate and hurried out of the kitchen and down to the Red Room, where Voldemort stood in front of the fireplace, shaking.

"My Lord...my darling, what's wrong? What's happened?" She drew beside him on his side and carefully took one of his arms in her hands, pulling him towards the loveseat. "You should sit and I'll go and get you-"

"No. You won't go anywhere. Not until you've heard." She was growing increasingly nervous. She knew from his vague references that something about the prophecy he'd been so concerned about was going to come to fruition in May and now here it was, the second day of May and he was looking wretched.

"Heard...what?"

"They know. They know about the Horcruxes," he said with a sense of finality and a forced calmness.

"Potter and his friends? What? But that's impossible-where did they-"

"They broke into your vault at Gringotts this afternoon. The cup is gone!" he exclaimed and got back onto his feet shakily, swinging the Elder Wand haphazardly as he did so such that streams of green and purple sparks richocheted around the room, finally making contact with a black candelabra that fell to the floor and shattered, small candle flames lapping at the hardwood.

Bellatrix pointed her own wand at the flames, extinguishing them and with a quick "Reparo," mended the candelabra while Voldemort stomped around the room looking crazed.

"You know he's already destroyed my diary," he muttered.

"But that's only two-you've still got-"

"The Gaunts ring? Destroyed. Slytherin's locket? Gone. WHY DIDN'T I KNOW-WHY DIDN'T I FEEL IT?!" She could see now why he was panicking. If the diary, the cup, the ring and locket were really all destroyed, then he only had-"

"Hogwarts. Tonight. We're going. We're fighting...this is the battle of the 5th month the Seer was talking about, I know it."

"My Lord, V..Voldemort, if you'll please sit down, we can talk about this and I'm sure you'll see that it's alright...it's going to be alright...you're in no right state for battle-you've just been all over the countryside checking on your horcruxes...you need to rest."

"NO! Tonight. I've waited long enough. I have the Elder Wand and I will kill the boy tonight."

(Voldemort)

He tried to place the feelings in his chest and the emotions they might be associated with from his past year or so with Bellatrix as his feet hit the ground in Hogsmeade.

Other Death Eaters were popping up all around him, and Voldemort disillusioned himself but was cautious to keep one arm around Bellatrix's waist and one eye trained on Nagini at all times. If this was really to be the battle the prophecy had forbade, he couldn't let either of them out of his sight.

In an ever-growing horde, they descended upon the grounds of the school. He knew the Death Eaters sensed his presence, but he relished in their fear that they didn't know where exactly he was. And then they were at the hillside, staring down at the school and Voldemort prepared to reveal himself and give them the order to go on the attack.

But first, he turned towards Bellatrix, who in the past months had become the closest thing he'd ever had to a best friend. She couldn't see him, so he tightened his arm around her waist to let her know he was still there.

"Tonight. This prophecy...you're aware that you may die for me?" he whispered, thinking it only right if she knew.

"I know," she murmured under her breath so the Death Eaters wouldn't notice and without thinking, he kissed the side of her face, right in the center of her cheek, causing her to immediately draw a hand to the spot and exhale deeply.

He took a deep breath of his own, removed the Disillusionment and spoke in a voice that resounded over the course of the entire castle grounds.

"I know you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not

want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not

want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you should be rewarded. You have until midnight."

(Bellatrix)

Light and sound exploded all around her. She felt Narcissa's arm around her shoulders at once as younger sister led older into seclusion at the entrance to the passageway behind the one-eyed witch statue on the first floor.

"This is some bullshit. I should be out there," she hissed, chest heaving in her frustration.

"The Dark Lord said no, Bellatrix. You're to sit this one out. He needs you-isn't that what you've always wanted?" Narcissa asked with wide, confused eyes.

"He's the one who trained me to fight! What was it all for then, if I'm just to hide here and not do anything? What does he think? I've gone soft and can't hold my own?!"

"You know it's not about that, Bella."

"Feels like it," she grumbled, but settled back against the wall all the same. She heard more shouts and smashing glass, mostly from the floor below, where the majority of the fighting was taking place.

"Bella, don't you trust him?"

"I do! I do! Of course I do...but I want him to trust me is all...I'm worthy, too. And strong."

Something clattered out in the corridor and Bellatrix grabbed Narcissa's wrist at once.

"Cissy? Do you hear that?!"

"Bella! Ssshh! Be quiet!" They slid back against the wall, hardly daring to even breathe as footsteps echoed past their hiding place.

"...Death Eaters everywhere...you spotted that aunt of yours yet?!"someone, a throaty male voice, growled under his breath.

"If you're talking about Bellatrix Lestrange, I haven't seen that fuckin bitch all night!" Narcissa's nails dug so intensely into Bellatrix's wrist she was sure it must be bleeding. The second voice belonged to none other than their niece, Nymphadora Tonks.

"Maybe someone's killed her!" A third voice. Male.

"Fuck if we'd get so lucky! She's second hand to You-Know-Who after Snape!" Tonks hissed with a high cackle, now dangerously close to where Bellatrix and Narcissa were hiding.

"Well she's been hidin all night then," said the first voice again.

"Fucking idiots," Bellatrix couldn't help muttering. Hiding all night? She'd show them.

"Bella! I'm supposed to be keeping you protected-you heard the Dark Lord, you're to stay out of-"

Bellatrix shot her sister a rude hand gesture and stormed into the fray.

"Miss me, don't you?" She confronted the three opponents out in the corridor-to her simultaneous amusement and chagrin, her niece, her werewolf husband and a third man.

"Aunt Bella-you bitch!" Tonks screamed, her hair fading from a mousey brown to a violent shade of red. She pointed her wand the same time Bellatrix drew her own-returned to her by the very terrified goblins at Gringotts after the break in, though they were it seems, relieved to have been confronted by her rather than Voldemort.

"You could have been so useful to us, dearie. Reminded me of myself for years now, you have!" Bellatrix taunted.

"Get away from my wife!" Shouted the werewolf, lunging forward and thrusting her own wand beneath Bellatrix's chin.

"Stay out of this Remus! This is between me and her! It's always been between me and her!"

Sparks flew-green and red and laser-white.

"Just like your mum you are, Nymphadora," Bellatrix cooed in her most mocking of tones, but really she was thinking about Andromeda.

"DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!"

"NO!" screamed Narcissa, running out from behind the statue. A stream of green light shot from her wand, missing Bellatrix by inches, and knocked their niece to the ground in a crumpled heap as her husband rushed to her side.

Narcissa clapped a hand over her mouth. "Is that...oh my god…"

"Our family's got some fucking issues."

"We'll talk about it later! Run, Bella!" The two sisters tore off down the grand staircase as the Order of the Phoenix members shot curses over their shoulders.

"Bella," gasped Narcissa when they finally reached the bottom of the steps and could catch their breath behind a suit of armor. "I've got to find my son. Please. Stay safe and if you've any mind to listen to the Dark Lord, stay out of the fighting."

"Right. Sure. Stay safe, my sweet Cissy." Bellatrix wrapped her sister in a quick embrace and then slipped out the door into the warm, muggy night. It was quiet out there and easier to hear if someone was coming. She made her way across the still, silent courtyard, wand twitching impatiently at her side.

"BOMBARDA!"

Bellatrix shrieked as glass shattered out of a stained glass window in the castle behind her. Enemies descended around her, shooting curses she ducked and slid sideways to avoid. A shard of glass stung the side of her face as it pierced her.

"Bellatrix Lestrange! I hoped I'd be the one to kill you!"

"Longbottom?!" she shouted in utter disbelief. She recognized him at once by the round face, so like his mother's. The small, wide, fearful eyes like his father's even though he was trying to sound strong.

"I could do it, you know." His wand shook in his hand. "I could do it, but why should you be put out of your misery when you couldn't be so kind to my parents? Crucio!" Bellatrix spiraled through the air, coming to a hard landing across the courtyard, the glass embedded more firmly into the side of her face.

"You can't torture me. You've got to mean it, darling," she hissed, getting shakily to her feet.

"Neville! Get back! She's not worth it!" Bellatrix recognized the red haired girl who screamed from the battle at the Ministry of Magic two years ago.

"Oh damn, the Weasleys have got more children than they're worth, haven't they?" She spat menacingly into the girl's face.

"Worth a fat lot more than you-Stupefy!" Bellatrix cast a shield charm between she and the Weasley girl's curse and then tore off down the sloping lawn towards the Forbidden Forest as her blood clung hot to her face like gel. Voldemort might kill her if she got into any more trouble.

"You have fought, valiantly," a deep voice echoed over the grounds that Bellatrix recognized at once as Voldemort's.

"Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray

myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

Bellatrix hurried across the grounds in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. If she could just get there quickly and meet Voldemort, he would never have to know she disobeyed orders…

"Going somewhere, Bellatrix?" Appearing suddenly on either side of Bellatrix in a cloud of thick smoke, were two identical red haired boys who had to be Weasleys like the girl in the courtyard. They each took one of her arms and hauled her between them in the direction of the castle.

"The Order's got it out for you to be killed personally after what you did to Neville's parents and Tonks and Harry's godfather," said the one to her right.

"The Dark Lord ordered a one hour cease fire!" She spat into the sweaty grass. She would have killed them on the spot, but the Dark Lord had said the fighting would stop and for once, she'd tried to listen.

"We never set much store by the rules, did we George?" The one on her left said in reply. His twin nodded ruefully.

With the twin who was not called George in possession of Bellatrix's wand, they shepherded her back into the castle and threw her down hard on the floor of the entrance hall.

"You know Fred, if Bellatrix Lestrange has taught us anything, it's that we'd be better suited to play with our food before we eat it," said George and the twin called Fred grinned widely.

The Great Hall door creaked open and footsteps emerged.

"Leave it. It's the snake Harry told us to be after…" Longbottom.

"We'll kill the snake...but Neville I really don't think this foul heaping dung pile of a human being ought to be living much longer." Bellatrix's heart pounded in her chest. Could they do it? Could they kill her?

The door opened again and more Order members stormed out, all young, all surrounding her.

"What's happened-Neville-what?"

"It's her, Ron. They've captured Bellatrix Lestrange." Two more Weasley boys (one of whom was at Malfoy Manor the night of the escape) joined Longbottom in the small circle surrounding her. She smirked.

"What are you going to do? Kill me? You couldn't. You've got to mean it. You've got

To want to kill me." She let the words fall velvety between her lips. It was irresistible, in a way, taunting them even though she knew they really could kill her if they wanted to-especially since they had her wand.

"We're supposed to be in a cease fire.

We can't kill her. Yet." The fourth Weasley trained a well polished wand on her.

"Cmon Percy, you can't follow all the rules, especially not when it's You-Know-Who that made them!" Bellatrix let her upper lip quiver in a mock display of fear. Percy Weasley-that daft bloke who worked at the Ministry under Thicknesse.

"You'll be fired for this, you know!" She shrieked.

"Didn't I say? I'm resigning!"

All four Weasleys and Longbottom erupted into laughter.

"You're joking, Percy! I mean, you're actually joking! I haven't heard you joke since- She saw her moment, leapt to her feet and snatched the wand back out of Fred Weasley's hand. "Avada Kedavra!" She shouted, and ran for the door as the others converged around their fallen brother. Too sentimental for their own good, as Voldemort would say.

(Voldemort)

Voldemort waited in the forest, fingers twitching over the Elder Wand as he tried to be patient. He looked up only when he heard something crashing through the brambles. He, Lucius and Greyback trained their eyes on the spot where they'd heard the sound, expecting. Death Eaters or-could it be-Harry Potter?

"My Lord!"

He breathed a thin sigh of relief and sniffed disdainfully at the same time as Bellatrix emerged through the trees, looking a little beat up and bloody around the face but otherwise alright.

"Bellatrix, I thought I told you to stay out of combat. Your sister-"

"She tried my Lord, really. But when have I obeyed any order I've got in my head I don't like?"

He frowned. She was too confident for her own good; as she had always been.

"Where have you been? You told me to stay near you and then we got separated-I was with Cissy-where've you-"

"I was killing Snape," Voldemort replied flatly.

"Killing Snape?! Why?!" Bellatrix gasped incredulously.

"He killed Dumbledore. He was the last master of the Elder Wand, that's why it hasn't been working for me...but it's mine now. Truly mine…"

"And just in time, too. You told them they had an hour to heal their wounded and mourn their dead. The hour is almost up."

"He'll come. I know it. He'll come."

(Bellatrix)

Bellatrix fixed her eyes on Voldemort. He was kneeling beside her with his hands folded over the Elder Wand and his head directed down towards the ground like he could have been praying or about to be sick. She risked laying a hand on his back in front of the of the semicircle of other Death Eaters-Lucius, Narcissa, Dolohov, Yaxley, Rowle and Greyback. She was scared. She'd never seen him looking so defeated.

"My Lord—" He cast her hand away without looking up and she drew it away hastily, trying to hide the stinging hurt in her heart.

"I thought he would come," said Voldemort. "I expected him to come." Nobody said anything and Bellatrix scanned the little half-circle around Voldemort for any sign that the others noticed what she did-how nervous Voldemort sounded, how gray he looked, how heavily he was breathing. She was starting to get that terrible feeling again-the way she felt the night she and the Lestranges sought out the Longbottoms-the way one tends to feel when something is about to go horribly wrong. The way one feels right before everything is about to change forever.

"I was, it seems . . . mistaken," Voldemort continued, to no one in particular.

"You weren't." Everyone looked up at the same time, following the source of the sudden, determined voice into the shadows between the trees, where a teenage boy was pulling off an Invisibility Cloak.

Silence hung in the air, all still and dead and rotting like a corpse no one wants to look at, but everyone is too squeamish to do something about. Bellatrix felt hot blood drip down her cheek from where the glass shard had cut her, but in that moment nothing mattered but Voldemort. She wanted to reach out a hand to him again-so he could grab it, squeeze it, even just look at it and know she was there with him, for anything he needed, even if he was always going to resent her. She saw him get to his feet, one hand clasped firmly around the Elder Wand at his side and the other pressed awkwardly against his ribs where perhaps a curse had hit him earlier on, while he was Disillusioned. He was hurting more than he was letting on. Bellatrix drew her own wand subtly to the height of her breast, prepared to do whatever she had to, even if she wasn't supposed to. The Death Eaters stepped back as Harry Potter strode forward, wand drawn, facing Voldemort. She looked back and forth from Voldemort to Harry, and gripped her wand more tightly. She was waiting for someone, anyone, to move, but it seemed that time had stopped. Frozen. Coiled itself from this moment which had the sense of one long-anticipated, even though it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

Neither can live while the other survives….Could she survive in a world without Voldemort? Obviously the prophecy was about Voldemort and Potter, but couldn't it be about she and Voldemort, too? The end bit, anyway. Could they be without each other, after all this time? No. Maybe he could be without her, but a world without Voldemort in it...seemed like no world at all.

I love you. I love you. Please. I love you. she thought desperately to him, but he'd shut his mind to her, to everything except this single all-important moment.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered. "The Boy Who Lived...Come to die."

"The snake is dead. There are no more Horcruxes. It's just us, Tom," the boy said coolly. Bellatrix caught a sharp intake of breath in her throat to keep from exhaling aloud. She wanted to lunge forward, grab Voldemort's hand and apparate them anywhere-the grounds outside Slytherin Manor, the streets of Muggle London, Paris, hell, anywhere away from here. They could form some other plan, rest, make more Horcruxes...but she knew that even if she could talk to him, he wouldn't listen to her.

Voldemort and Potter drew their wands. No one moved-all of them were waiting. Voldemort raised the Elder Wand and tilted his head to one side, like even he was still doubtful of its power. Everything was still again. Seconds passed. Then they shouted. Jets of light hit the air-green met red, Bellatrix thought determinedly of Voldemort, his lips on hers on Halloween, and darted forward. There was a horrible scream. And then everything went dark.


	20. Chapter 20: Human Again

Chapter 20: Human Again

A/N: last chapter before the epilogue! And then it's sequel time =) Sorry about the formatting-I typed this chapter and the last one on my phone to get them to you faster! Enjoy and thanks for sticking with my story!

Note: some of the lines of the prophecy in this chapter come from a Nightwish song called Song of Myself

(Bellatrix)

"Bellatrix Black, how long it has been."

Bellatrix snapped her eyes open, but had to blink them a few times in order to be sure she really had. All she could see was shadow.

"I remember when you were just eleven years old, so full of potential and wonder...you came to Hogwarts wanting to learn, to become the greatest witch you could." She recognized the voice from somewhere, but at the same time she couldn't place it.

"...Not unlike others I've known," he continued. "Others who've chosen a far different path."

"Show yourself!" Bellatrix commanded. She reached blindly through the smoke trying to feel anything, but it was only cool air that filled the gaps between her fingertips. She was there and the voice was there...but where was there when all she could see was nothingness? Was she a part of that nothing? It was then that she ran her fingers down her own body, from the roots of her hair down past her hips and waist, if only to prove to herself that she was all still there. She was solid, yet soft in all the right places. Her hair, thick and slightly greasy in that just a bit too unwashed sort of way.

"I haven't changed," she whispered aloud to herself.

"Haven't you?" The unknown voice echoed back. She again tried shutting and reopening her eyes, to no avail. She could see nothing but darkness, feel nothing but that cold mist, like she were trapped within the folds of the cloak of a giant dementor. She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, the only sure thing she had.

Then something grabbed her shoulder. A hand. And Bellatrix screamed.

"You've nothing to fear, Bellatrix….if you've nothing to hide."

"Where are we? I'm...I'm in Hell or something, aren't I?"

"Are you so unsure?" The voice prompted, and Bellatrix recoiled, shaking the hand away. She felt much like she did the night she lost her memories. Like everything was familiar, but she didn't quite know why. Like everything that was ever real wasn't and maybe she wasn't either.

"Funny thing isn't it…memory?" Said the voice as if it was reading her thoughts.

"I've done things-terrible things-well some would say I have. So I could be in Hell...depending on whose decision it is, I expect."

"Do you think you've done terrible things, Bellatrix?"

"I...I don't know," she stammered weakly, having been caught quite off guard by the question.

"Well then, perhaps, we'll start with a different question. Where do you think we are?"

The question struck her at first as daft, but then she took a moment to think about it. She couldn't see...couldn't feel anything beyond the smoky darkness, but she could smell something. Something with a hint of...cinnamon? And when she really strained her ears, she could hear faint sounds-bits of glass clinking together, and a steadily simmering liquid.

"In the dungeons at Hogwarts. Where I brewed a powerful love potion when I was sixteen," she answered firmly.

"Well then we are in the dungeons at Hogwarts and you are again sixteen," replied the voice with just as much conviction and as it did so, the smoke parted just in front of Bellatrix, revealing her to be standing on a cracked stone pathway leading to a single pewter cauldron which indeed emitted the characteristic pearly spirals of Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world.

"Go on, smell it," prompted the voice.

"If I'm again sixteen, it should be the same for me as it was then, shouldn't it?"

"I don't know. This is, as they say, your party."

Timidly, Bellatrix took a few steps closer to the gently spiraling potion. She reached out a hand and began to waft the spirals toward her nose.

"I smell…black licorice, just like before. And Cinnamon Firewhiskey...and...burnt firewood...a bit like…" She trailed off. What was it like? What he smelled like to her. Who? Voldemort. She smelled Voldemort. She had died saving Voldemort.

"Are you beginning to understand yet, Bellatrix?" asked the voice, with an even patience she wasn't used to. She shook her head even though she knew it might not be able to see her.

"No? Perhaps in time. Come, let's go."

"Where?!" She demanded, but her vision had again been clouded by darkness. "I'm not scared, you know. I've lived for the dark my whole life-I'd never run from it-especially not when I'm-" She couldn't bring herself to say the word "dead," but it didn't matter because the darkness was already fading away.

When the smoke cleared, they were standing at the base of a drab gray building in downtown London that Bellatrix knew despite wishing she didn't.

"This is where…" She trailed off and ran her fingers against the cold iron railings of the steps leading up to a quite unwelcoming front stoop.

"Voldemort is to be born, yes."

"Is to be-but-" It was a woman's cries that cut Bellatrix off. The front door to the orphanage swung open and a girl appeared there, no more than twenty years old.

"Miss Cole! Come quick! Someone's here!" As sharply as if she'd been there all along, another woman appeared on the steps, wrapped in a thin blanket and bleeding. The one called Miss Cole emerged from the door alongside the younger girl and they converged together around the poor woman on the steps.

"She's about to have a baby, miss!"

"She's already crowning! I can see the head!"

They scrambled about the pregnant woman, not acknowledging Bellatrix at all. She thought at once of a Pensieve and called out to the voice that'd brought her here.

"His mother was a witch though, right? Couldn't she have-"

"Patience, Bellatrix. And watch."

So she did. She watched the pregnant woman on the steps birth a healthy looking baby that didn't cry. And then-

"She's bleeding, miss. I don't think-wait-is that another head?!"

This second baby wailed to raise the lamp posts.

"He has a brother?! A twin brother?!" Bellatrix exclaimed. And the scene before her froze. The head of the orphanage, Miss Cole, in her nightdress holding Voldemort's mother, who was dying in her arms-and the younger matron, wrapping two baby boys in swatches of patched blankets, all as still and unmoving as the night.

"Confused?" She turned on her heel as for the first time, the voice sounded like it was coming from outside of her own head. Instantly, however, she wished she hadn't looked. Heading up the street towards her and appearing quite comical in the midst of the frozen painting all around them, was that old fool Albus Dumbledore in an admittedly magnificent set of magenta robes.

"This night...is full of surprises, isn't it, Bellatrix?" He said, much to her chagrin, sounding very much alive.

"Yes, Voldemort had a brother. Adopted a week after he was born," he continued as if unaware of the enmity between them.

"I don't get it-why are you here? You were supposed to be the good one, weren't you? Then why've you come for me?!"

"Patience, Bellatrix. You would do well to remember it."

"You know who he is. You know who his brother is," she said slowly, as unbelievable as the sentence still sounded, coming from her own lips.

"I might. I might not. Forgive me an old man's erroneous guesswork, Bellatrix."

And then the darkness returned. This time, when the smoke cleared, she and Dumbledore stood shoulder to shoulder in a place she did not recognize.

A woman stood in the center of a room lined on all sides with tapestries and blankets. She herself, probably about fifty years old, was perched on an eggplant-colored chaise, shrouded in pink smoke and her own long white hair.

When she spoke, her voice came out as a low, raspy whisper:

The nightingale is still locked in the cage

The deep breath those brothers took still poisons their lungs

One, a great heart full but slowly dying

He'd give everything to love her more

The other, a great heart lying still

Monster in a child's tale, in silent suffering

Trying to smile but he hurts infinitely.

Beyond all mortality they are, swinging in the breath of nature

With thoughts of family graves

And moments of true love

Mother smiles to the sons she left behind

She's never loved them more

But they'll never be the man their father was

Death will be the winner in their war

Nothing noble in dying

Unless brother and brother are to reunite once more

For ideology, for faith

For another war

For who can make beautiful a sad man?

"That's a prophecy...but who…"

Bellatrix turned to Dumbledore as the scene before them faded away as quickly as it had come to them.

"We are not so different, you and I," he said quietly. "In time, you will need to forgive yourself."

"Forgive myself? What's to forgive? And who are you to speak kindly to me when we're enemies! When he's the reason you're dead! When I just...gave all of myself to save the most evil wizard of all time…"

"Only terrible and evil according to the opinion of some, as you yourself said not too long ago."Dumbledore's eyes smiled behind his half-moon spectacles, further infuriating Bellatrix.

"So you think Voldemort's right?"

"I think we've come to a place where we can speak to each other beyond the constraints of politics….but what does it matter anyway? You're dead."

"Dead?"

"Yes. Very dead indeed." He nodded to accompany his words, but Bellatrix continued to frown.

"But then...no. I wouldn't be talking to you if I were dead. Even if there is...something after. We wouldn't be in the same place...would we?"

"You're dead...but perhaps only for now. I am dead, perhaps indefinitely." The smoky mist returned and Bellatrix might have closed her eyes for all that she could see-right now? Not anything. Certainly not Dumbledore, though she felt sure that he was still there.

"For now?!" She exclaimed.

"You've always wanted to know something he didn't, haven't you, Bellatrix?" Dumbledore was starting to sound further away, like she was hearing him from the opposite end of a long tunnel, yet inside her own head at the same time.

"Please! I don't understand!"

"Don't you? You saved Voldemort because his destiny is greater than this...haven't you long claimed to have known-that his destiny was always greater than this?"

"It's about Voldemort? What that woman was saying-it's all about Voldemort...and his brother? Please! Tell me more!" She pleaded.

But even though she couldn't see either way, she knew that Dumbledore was gone and she was alone in the darkness.


	21. Chapter 21: Epilogue

**Chapter 21: Epilogue**

 **(Voldemort)**

"My Lord, are you alright?" Narcissa Malfoy extended a hand and helped Voldemort to his feet. He promptly surveyed the area around him.

"Where is the body?"

"The boy isn't dead, My Lord. He took off into the forest when…"

She spoke quickly at first with the air of wanting to get the worst over with straightaway, but then she trailed off and looked at the stump of a tree amidst the bracken. It all took a minute or so to process as Voldemort could not quite believe it. He was Master of the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick...and the boy had lived?! Narcissa did not seem to notice or care how much she'd enraged him. She was still staring off at the same tree stump.

When she finally turned away, Voldemort could see that she was crying.

"I don't understand. This wand…" He held it out to her as if for inspection. "This wand is supposed to be unbeatable-this-"

"Don't you see?! Don't you understand?!" Narcissa spat. She used a tone he would have never dreamed she would dare use with him. But she seemed unconcerned as she ran to the tree stump. She knelt beside it, gathering her robes around her as she sent a horrible wail reverberating through the night.

"Vol..Voldemort...it's awful...the boy disarmed you and your killing curse rebounded. It would have hit you-which of course we are glad it didn't and that your Lordship is still with us, but she…" Narcissa collapsed in a heap of sobs and seemed quite unable to go on.

"Lumos!" said Voldemort. He lifted the Elder Wand and pointed it in Narcissa's direction, where he could see not a tree stump, but something soft though unmoving. He drew nearer to it and almost instantly wished he hadn't. Something convulsed inside of him, his stomach leapt into his throat and for a small moment, he thought he might be sick.

"No," he whispered. Not her. But he knew it, didn't he? He knew it from the moment the battle began. Knew it from the very day he started trying to get close to her...Knew it for nearly a year...and yet...as he looked down on her, she might have been sleeping. "NOOOOOOO!" he screamed a scream that was loud and wrenched with a low guttural noise he did not know he could produce.

"The boy disarmed you...and the curse rebounded…"

...the curse. His curse. He had been the one, after everything, to kill her. The unbeatable Elder Wand had beaten her.

"M...My Lord...we should move her before others...before she becomes a spectacle," Narcissa choked out. She was still kneeling beside Bellatrix, who remained splayed out on the ground, her hair sprawling in a wave of black tendrils all around her.

Lucius Malfoy stormed forward from the small outer circle of Death Eaters and grabbed his wife's shoulder.

"Narcissa. Dear. You're making a scene."

"I don't care! That's my sister! That's my Bella!"

"She sacrificed herself to save the Dark Lord. You know that's what she wanted."

Somehow, hearing Lucius say it like that, so plainly, made Voldemort feel uncomfortable. But he was confused. He'd lost Death Eaters before and this loss even, he'd known was coming. Why then, did it feel so different?

Fully aware that Greyback, Yaxley, Dolohov and the two Malfoys were still watching him, he reached out a hand and touched her. With just two fingers, he barely grazed the cool skin of her forehead, but he might have jumped into a grate of fire full of hot ash that surged through him like lightning while all he could see was Bellatrix.

~I love you, she'd said.

~I know, he'd said.

~ _I've always loved you._

 _~I know._

He knew. He knew. He knew.

If only he'd focused more effort on reuniting the Deathly Hallow instead of on obtaining only one of them. He could have come by the others just as easily, with all of his power and that of the Wand at his disposal. And then he would be Master of Death. With the stone, he could bring Bellatrix back. But it could be anywhere. He drew away from Bella and tightened his right hand's grip around the Elder Wand. It felt like lead against his palm. Without thinking, he sent a powerful jet of orange sparks in the direction of the Death Eaters, who leapt aside to avoid it.

But couldn't there be another way?

~"No magic can raise the dead, Tom…" Dumbledore's voice filled his mind as quickly as he thought of it and he shook his head to rid himself of it.

But what if there was someone who knew better than Dumbledore? Someone who practiced different magic than Dumbledore and was not afraid to stray beyond the shelter of the light in pursuit of power and acclaim?

~"Our magic can raise the dead!"

Of course. But had she been bluffing? If she was, he could finally kill her. But what did he-no, what did Bellatrix have to lose, after all?

"My Lord…" Narcissa Malfoy was kneeling beside her sister again and facing Voldemort with helplessness in her eyes. "My Lord...please...say something. You know…..she...she loved you."

"Narcissa! My Lord, she knows not what she says!" Lucius said and with a casual flick of his wand, Voldemort stunned him to the ground.

"You were saying, Narcissa?"

"No. Lucius is right. You'll only punish us if I go on...And...I want to find my son." She closed her eyes momentarily and then reopened them.

"Do as you will. The battle is postponed," Voldemort said in a stiff, unnaturally pleasant voice he did not recognize as his own. He bent down and scooped Bellatrix's unmoving form into his arms, earning himself a series of gasps from the Death Eaters. Narcissa seemed too distressed to even communicate as Voldemort's sudden moving of the body prompted her to throw herself down in the dirt crying. But he didn't have time for any of that. He needed to see Madam Rhiannon.

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"You're very like Coyote, you know. If you remember, he too thought he made the rules to be applied to anyone but himself," the old witch said as she smiled coyly beneath sheets of silvery hair.

"Fine. The story or whatever it was-it worked. We fulfilled the prophecy. It was about her. Now give me what I came here for." H glanced around the main room at Madam Rhiannon's. It didn't look all that different from the last time he'd visited, except now, Bellatrix's body laid nestled against the sofa cushions and Madam Rhiannon stood before him, small as ever, but unfortunately not the least bit intimidated.

"If you came here for assurance about the prophecy, then I highly doubt you even need it. Here you are, alive, while she is dead. She saved you because she loved you-or had you not worked that bit out yet?"

"Stop this nonsense! If you're any kind of Seer, then you know why I am here. You told me that your magic can raise the dead, which means you have the Resurrection Stone. Or did you LIE to Lord Voldemort?!" He stared, unblinking, until he was sure his eyes must have pierced a snakebite hole into her heart, but still, she did not falter.

"When are you going to understand? I don't need your foolish tools and silly words and trickery to perform my magic...Now, if you ask nicely, I might be able to help you." Voldemort struggled to swallow his usual urge to strangle her with her own assortment of celestial beads and scarves.

"Look at you, learning to control your impulses. Very good." Her impassive face cracked into a wry smile. "What you're looking for is called the Power of Resurgence."

Voldemort tried to search her mind for any indication that she was trying to trick him, but the shroud around her thoughts remained, like Dumbledore's had always been, thick and impermeable as ever.

"You speak of Resurgence as if it is any other power natural for you to come by. But where is your proof?"

"Oh, you misunderstand me. I won't be the one performing Resurgence on your little Beauty here...she will." Madam Rhiannon gestured to the far door lined with green beads and it opened instantly, revealing her apprentice, Misty Day, standing there like she was waiting to be summoned since Voldemort arrived.

"I don't know if the Power of Resurgence works against curses, but I can try." The young blonde witch bent down beside the sofa and began examining one of Bellatrix's wrists between her fingertips.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW?!"

"Voldemort...are you crying? My, you are a different man. This woman has done quite a job on you."

Voldemort instantly lifted a hand to the side of his face and was surprised to feel wetness there. Stunned into silent submission, he followed the streak to the corner of his right eye slit. Was he...was this what it felt like? If so, he was disappointed by how anticlimactic the crying thing was. Bellatrix had always made it all look like some gallant performance each time...but Voldemort just felt unpleasantly mortal.

"Just do it!" he bellowed as he struggled to keep another drop of hot liquid from escaping the confines of his other eye.

Misty smiled, but Madam Rhiannon quickly held up a hand to stop her.

"Wait, Misty," she ordered and then rounded on Voldemort. "If she means so much to you...what are you willing to give up in return, to spare her life?"

And Voldemort froze, clenching the Elder Wand so tightly that tiny purple spots appeared on the back of his palm. For the first time in his life, he felt vulnerable, unprepared and frightened. He felt. He wanted to stop, think, research, comprehend what it all meant...but he had a horrible sinking feeling that time was very quickly running out.

 _~Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also~_

-END OF BOOK ONE IN MY BELLAMORT SERIES-

 **Author's Note: IT'S OVER! Thank you all who continued to support me in this crazy writing project with your kind reviews, favorites, follows and pageviews. Without those, I might have given up ages ago. Anyway, I hope you liked the first story. I am currntly working on the sequel Blood and Crystal, so if you want to know what happens (what does Voldemort have to give up to bring back Bella? Will Bella survive and if she does, how will their relationship change? How will Voldemort deal with experiencing emotions?Who is Voldemort's twin brother and what role will the new prophecy play in the continuation of the second wizarding war?) then you'll have to read the sequel so look out for that! Will post soon!**

 **xoxo,**

 **Sundance**


	22. Post Script

**Post Script:**

 **A/N: Decided to add just a smidge more because some people were unsatisfied with the ending as it was. Think of it like the little bit at the end of a movie for the people who wait until the credits are over...just enough to provide some closure without giving too much away. Be patient with Voldy-he has got a lot to work through-and so does Bella, which is why we love them both so very much. =)**

 **Remember to head over to Blood and Crystal (the sequel) if you want to read what happens next with them.**

 **On a far more somber note, so sad to hear about the passing of Alan Rickman-the best Severus Snape there ever will be =( *raises wand* /***

(Bellatrix)

Bellatrix smelled firewhiskey, black licorice and burnt firewood. Right, she was in potions class at the age of sixteen and Slughorn was teaching them all about love potions.

Must have dozed off...she realized as she reached for her copy of Advanced Potion Making. But where was it? And why was everything so dark?

"She's waking," someone said. Who? thought Bellatrix as she struggled to move her legs, which seemed to have locked somewhere between smelling the Amortentia and realizing everyone was going to know it was Voldemort all that stuff smelled like to her.

Voldemort. The name felt sweet on her breath as she realized how strongly she wanted to speak it between her lips. She was not sixteen. There was no Potions classroom. Only Voldemort. I died saving Voldemort. And now where was she? Back in that dark place with Dumbledore? Was this the After-darkness and the smell of Voldemort?

"Fetch him. Tell him it's time," the same unknown person spoke again-a woman, with an uncharacteristically raspy voice as if from ears of heavy pipe smoking. Would she ever be able to see those souls she shared the After with? Maybe souls didn't look like anything if you were bad while alive. She tried to sigh, but she couldn't do that either. Or move. Or breathe. Everything was so...numb. Numb and empty.

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Minutes might have passed. Or hours...or even days. She didn't know if time moved the same way here or not...either way, being dead was really boring.

"Bella." A shiver coursed through what remained of her entire sense of being. That sounded like...no. He couldn't be here, too...the prophecy said she would save him. Was everything a waste?

"Bellatrix. Please. Open your eyes." He didn't sound distant like Dumbledore did when...wait. Dumbledore. What did Dumbledore say?

~You're dead...but perhaps only for now. I am dead, perhaps indefinitely...You saved Voldemort because his destiny is greater than this...haven't you long claimed to have known-that his destiny was always greater than this?~

Could it be that they'd both managed to survive somehow? Or was this another cruel illusion of whatever came After? She tried to open her eyes and find out for sure, but she seemed to have forgotten how.

"Don't think about it so much. Just relax and-"

She made a choking sound involuntarily and felt her body fall hard against a surface like she'd been suspended over it. Then, her eyes opened and she saw everything. Or more aptly, she saw a pair of fiery red slits she feared she would never see again if she didn't take them all in right that second, imprinting them on her mind...every curve, color and subtle dilation.

"What do you feel?" he asked.

"Strange," she said with some hesitation. Her voice didn't sound right to her. Or maybe she didn't quite remember how to use it after being trapped so long in that other place…..although it wasn't just her voice. Everything looked and felt different...like it was a different world entirely. A partial world, teasing her with all she wanted to be close to, but couldn't really touch.

"What happened?" she asked the man standing over her who looked like Voldemort.

"You died," he replied far too casually for her liking.

"Am I dead?"

"For a while you were. I don't think you're dead now, though...but I'll let you tell me. Do you feel dead?"

"I don't know," she shook her head. Something was wrong. She was with Voldemort. She could see and feel and smell and touch...she was alive the way she'd always been...and yet she couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was different. Voldemort tilted his head to one side like he was examining her, a sensation she wasn't fond of.

"So what happens now?" she asked. Anything to get him to stop looking at her like a specimen to be studied. To her surprise, Voldemort's face cracked into what could only be described as a smile.

"You have died and come back, as I have died and come back...in other words, we can finally understand each other."


End file.
